


Shades of Blue

by MoonWitch96



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, The World Isn't Black & White, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-01-07 06:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12227820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonWitch96/pseuds/MoonWitch96
Summary: Beatrice is many things, blonde and blue-eyed, half-Chinese and Welsh, passionate for literature, a devoted athlete. An Adventurer, however, she is not. Of course, when she meets Gandalf in 'We're not in Kansas anymore Toto' moment, she finds that it doesn't matter when he tells her that he would love for her to share one with him.





	1. Dodge Many, Many Teeth

**Dodge Many, Many Teeth**

_(Or Bea Tumbles Down The Rabbit Hole)_

_Third Age:_ Year _2931, The Fourth of April_

Beatrice Eurwen-Lung(Bea as she preferred) was just waiting for the bus foot tapping, a little bit sore from a fencing practice(she was eager for regionals, determined to make sure her that this was the year she was chosen to represent her school instead of standing back like last year) when the very very unthinkable happened. Unexpected if you will. Her head was bobbing up and down absently to the soft, classical playlist she had made just for her commute, moving uneasily from foot to foot because it was close to eleven, late and colder than what she would like. She checked her phone for the time, frowning at the rather lateness of the number fifty bus.

"Oh, come on Larry," she mumbled, checking her phone again before she looked down the dark road expectantly, Larry was the typical driver of the 'last call' shift and was usually very punctual, even on a late Friday night like this, "I have a paper to finish."

She cursed at the fact that she hadn't thought to bring her laptop today(she had at least two more pages to write before she went on to edit it five times), but it had been her one class day and she had promised her Captain, Will, that she would spend most of the day practicing( _Shape up Eurwen-Lung, we need our 'Golden Dragon' at regionals this year!_ ). She had only brought her Kindle and her phone electronic wise and she was seriously regretting it. She scowled, shuffling in her well worn, laced up boots. She knew she could've finished it at lunch(skipped of course) instead of using that time to organize her equipment...

She could try to finish it on her phone but it was late, she was the only one at the bus stop, her usual bus buddy and roommate, Megan, had bolted to get an early start on her weekend with her girlfriend Leah. She knew better than to be super focused on something with it being as late as it was. She was already pushing it with her music, even if she had it on super low and only had one of her earphones in. That safety seminar that Megan had made her attend had repeated over and over again that earbuds are a dangerous distraction that made you an easy target, her compromises were to only set it at a low volume and with one earbud. Bea sighed, adjusting the straps on her backpack again.

She moved restlessly pacing and checking around nervously. The bus stop wasn't on campus- trust her luck that the only housing she could score was at least an hour away on foot and had a bus stop at a ten-minute walk from campus, tucked away by the side of the road that was surrounded by tall, shadowy trees. To add to that, the only street light was flickering, obviously in need of a replacement but no one had bothered to for some time. It was like a horror movie waiting to happen, especially with the full moon out, with Bea as the virginal idiot that was axed off first in the opening credits.

_I really need to send in a complaint to the city. That thing hasn't worked for nearly a year._

Carefully, she tightened her grip on her bright pink taser, a gift from her brother, Arthur, when she had been given a scholarship from a Uni so far away from home. She did know self-defense- her mom being a Master of Changquan Wushu had made damn sure that her daughter could defend herself- but she knew she was an easy target because of her small size. Her brother did too, which is why he had insisted on the taser, even going as far as to decorate the damn thing with cheesy bedazzled stones at the very top in the shape of a very wonky heart. The fact that she was alone, late and cold made her nervous. She checked the time again, biting her lip.

_Fuck, did I miss the bus?_

Bea tensed at the thought and resolved that if the number fifty did not come in the next ten minutes(making it half an hour late at this point) she would jog home. It wouldn't be the first time and she doubted it would be the last. She frowned and wished she had caved and borrowed Megan's bike when she had mentioned she would leave right after her last class and skip out on her meditation club to  _'Live in mortal sin this weekend with my sweet girl_ '. She immediately tensed when she heard a crack of twig off to the right.

Trying to not to freak out, she turned off the music, tugging out her earbuds as casually as she could and put her phone into her bra(a women's secret pocket) just in case she had to ditch her backpack(she didn't want to, but between her life or her backpack she would choose her life). When she heard nothing else for a few beats and saw nothing in the trees in the direction she had heard the sound, Bea felt her shoulders drop in relief.

So, of course, she was completely unprepared when a  _large fucking wolf_ came out from the trees.

Logically, Bea thought it was a large dog at first- starved and thin, ribs poking through its matted fur, growling and teeth bared. She blinked in sheer disbelief, wondering as it slowly made its way towards her, ready to pounce. It was so  _big_ \- easily coming up to her shoulder and while Bea wasn't the tallest of people at a pretty small 4'8", she knew something was wrong with that. She had yet to see an animal be so big outside of a zoo.

"Nice doggy," she whispered, lifting her hands out, taser still in hand, automatically, in peace.

The thing snarled- _roared_ , loudly, so loudly that Bea felt the sound vibrate in her chest. It was black, matted fur thing that looked half-crazy with large bloodshot eyes, assessing her with a startling intelligence that she never saw in normal dogs. She saw that it had large drool coming from his mouth and shook.

_It's going to pounce. Will a taser even work on a wolf?_

Bea took a deep, if shaky breath, trying to center herself as her mother taught her. She knew she had to run(martial arts and taser aside the main thing about not getting yourself killed was knowing a fight you could not win)- she but the damn thing was standing between her and the school, there was a small gas station a few miles behind her but she doubted she could make it without the damn thing mauling her- she wasn't a fast runner with her short legs, but she did have stamina, being a fencer required it.  _Was zig-zagging away from an animal bears or does it apply to all animals? Oh, no wait, Mythbusters said it was better to run straight and fuck the zig-zag- I remember that episode._

Slowly as it drew closer, Bea tensed her legs, when she saw it's leg bunch up, she lunged to the side, screaming and rolling away in a half-assed dodge roll that would have her mother rolling her eyes( _You have to fall correctly, *Értóng_ ). She landed awkwardly on her shoulder, something that hurt like a son-of-a-bitch but Bea was too tense to fall properly and she was already getting up while the damn thing smacked into the roof over the bus stop. She started to run and when it somehow managed to get in front of her, she did a very stupid thing by not sticking to the road in her panic and dodging into the trees before it could bite her arm off.

It was right on her heels as she ran full tilt into the forest, dodging tree after tree in the dark and hoping to God she could manage to somehow to find her way to school, heading in the vague direction she knew it was in- She pushed past low tree branches, slapping her in the face and pulling at her hair, thanking whatever deity she could think of at the fact that she could see somewhat in the dark-

She broke the tree-line, quite suddenly, nearly fell on her face as she tripped over a large tree root- _Mother-fucker my ankle-_ just managing to catch herself on the tree that had just seemingly broken her ankle. Immediately, Bea knew something was very very wrong. For one, it was supposed to be the dead of night, so the sun shining on her face caused a great sense of alarm as she rushed away from the tree and forward, blinking rapidly at the sudden and very alarming change of light-

Even more so when she stumbled straight into a very tall man wearing a pointed hat and a very kick-ass beard.

He exclaimed, loudly in a lyrical language even as Bea gripped his robe to keep her balance.

"We have to run!" she exclaimed, loudly, eyes wide. She tugged at his robes urgently, pulling him as hard as she could, but the tall, thin man despite his apparent age, did not move an inch.

The old man blinked down at her.

"I beg your pardon, child, by the Valar-"

And then the wolf made itself known, snarling and hissing. Bea turned quickly, fumbling for her taser.

"Run old man!"

With that she pulled the trigger of her taser, watching the two barbs shootout, wishing beyond hope that this was would work- And she thinks if the wolf had just been a little bit smaller, it would have. As it was, it just growled, shaking and flinching at the voltage as the taser barbs sparked with electricity. But it kept  _coming_ \- With a cry, the old man screamed at the creature, hands lashing out with a staff, hissing in a strange language that went over Bea's head as the wolf was thrown back, a loud, sickening crack sounding as the creature's head smashed into a nearby boulder.

Bea fell back in surprise, onto her butt, releasing the trigger of her taser. She stared at the dead wolf, chest heaving, tears in her eyes. The Old man had made it fly away from them without even touching it- she was no expert but she damn sure knew that had looked a lot like magic. Taking into account of the fact that it was day instead of night-

"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," she whispered, hand coming up to hold the small throb she felt there. When she pulled away hand, she saw blood _fuck head wounds bleed a lot_.

"My child, I must inform you, I am not Toto," said the old man, drawing Bea's attention. He sniffed, drawing himself up to his full height as she turned to him-  _Jesus he's tall-_ , blinking rapidly, "I am Gandalf and Gandalf means me."

"I- It's a saying. A saying when you're in a place that's impossible or strange. I'm not calling you that."

The old man, Gandalf, raised a rather impressive, bushy brow.

"Appropriate, I suppose, given that to me, you are very particularly dressed and most likely not from around here. Not to mention, you gave no recognition of my name and I can tell you I am very well known."

Automatically, Bea looked down at her clothes. She had dressed for comfort- tight and easy to move in yoga pants that she could cover with her breeches without feeling too bulky and an overly large sweatshirt in her school's traditional blue that she could slip off easily, to put on her chest protector as well as her plastron and jacket. She bit her lip and looked backed up at the old man, who was dressed in a robe, an honest to God medievalesque robe that would not look out of place at a Renaissance fair. She blinked when he offered his large, weathered hand.

She took it and with surprising strength for someone so old, Gandalf lifted her to her feet. Well, she weighed about a hundred pounds, not too much for a twenty-year-old, but she knew even some kids her own age that would struggle to lift her up, much less an old man. Her ankle burned and she hissed as she shifted her weight to her other foot. She flinched when his hand came to touch at the cut on her forehead.

"You are injured, child. Come," he said simply and slightly dazed, she followed the old man.

He brought her to what looked like a small camp- a fire pit surrounded by weathered logs, something that looked almost like a sleeping bag, and set her down on one of the logs. Most likely in shock, Bea watched as the old man went to a large pack that was leaning on the log opposite to her's, rummaging through it and coming back with a few vials and a large, oddly shaped sack. He unscrewed the tip of the sack, grabbing a white bundle of fabric and wetting it.  _It's a water skin._

With that clean, damp cloth, he started to clean her face.

"I do believe I have stated my name, but you have yet to tell me yours," he said softly, moving to clean her arms, "I simply cannot keep calling you child."

"Beatrice. Beatrice Eurwen-Long," she replied after a second, blinking slightly, "But I liked to be called Bea. It's less of a mouthful."

The old man hummed.

"Well, Lady Beatrice, it appears that you have traveled a long way-" he eyes narrowed, "By the will of the Valar no doubt. From where do you hail?"

_Um, Lady?_

"Um, Bellflower, California?" At his blank stare, she tried again, "In the United States of America? But I live in Connecticut for school? Planet Earth, third from the sun?"

He simply shook his head.  _Definitely not in Kansas._

"Where are we?"

He gave her a look.

"We are the land of Middle-Earth, bordering on the realm Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains. Closer… Closer to Mithlond, the Grey Havens."

Bea stared at him helplessly as he started to apply a sweet smelling paste to her cuts and bruises. She didn't recognize anything he said- If she hadn't seen him fling a wolf and crush its skull against the rocks with nothing but words and a wave of his gnarled staff, she would've thought he was just a crazy old coot sprouting nonsense at her. But she had and understood with dread that she was, somehow, someway, no longer in the United States and possibly even Earth itself. He sighed.

"So you are not of this land," he said, sounding troubled, his brows came together in a deep furrow, "By your features, I would take you as some albino Easterling- but at your expression, I can tell that is not the case."

_Okay, that sounds vaguely racist._

"My mother is from a country called China, it is to the East from the country I live in- and my dad is from Wales, which is technically East from the United States too- But I'm guessing that's not something you recognize."

He shook his head. He moved to her ankle, taking off her boot, shaking his head and moving it gently back and forth with the air of someone who did this often. As he moved it a certain way she sucked in a breath- which prompted him to tsk and to ease it back into place. He pressed into her ankle with his long fingers, feeling it for a bit before he nodded to himself.

"It's not broken, merely sprained but best if you do not place too much strain on it," he advised.

She nodded, long used to injuries thanks to both martial arts and fencing and the old man set to binding it up with some thick, tough cloth after he had applied a different paste 'to reduce the swelling'. He hummed and whispered in that strange language- It seemed as if the man knew several, each one with a different significance and purpose. She admired that, she could butcher her way through Welsh enough to ask where the bathroom was and was okay at Chinese if she concentrated, but by her mother standards she was barely fluent.

"Do you have any other injuries that need attending?"

She gestured to her shoulder which was throbbing like a bitch, and at his prompting, carefully removed her sweater. He did not flinch when he saw her semi-naked torso as she would have guessed from his speech and overall dress but instead focused on assessing her shoulder with the cool air of a professional. He poked and spoke in a lyrical language- different from what he had spoken to fling the mangy wolf away from her.

"Nothing too dire, not what many can say after encountering a lone, starved Warg."

She blinked.

"Warg?"

"Ay. A Warg. Strange to see one without its rider but that one was lame- abandoned by pack and rider because of the weakness. They don't last long without a pack, but they go mad as they starve."

She shivered, turned to the corpse of the giant creature. She could see that he was right, one of his legs, the right back one, was twisted oddly, with a heavy scar running from the paw to the haunch.

"Poor thing," she mumbled, feeling pity. It was only an animal and it was starving.

The old man laughed.

"It tries to eat you and you see fit to pity it?"

Beatrice shrugged, wincing at the pain on her shoulder.

"Dress, Lady Beatrice, I am not eager to lay camp here once again with a lone Warg so near. I know you are lost- very lost indeed- but you are tired and it is not time yet to discuss how or why you came to be in Middle-Earth."

She pulled on her sweater, watching his as he packed up his camp with the ease of someone ten times younger then he looked and with the practiced air of a mountaineer. She nibbled on her lip as he pulled his horse, which had been dozing calmly throughout the entire ordeal and started to load him up with his things, before he turned to her, tossing a cloak from his pack.

"Cover yourself, it is cold and perhaps it is not best to advertise you are not of this place."

With a slight fumble, Bea managed to clasp the simple silver pin at the base of her throat, dragging the long, blue material close around her and making a point to cover her clothes with the surplus of soft, velvety material. The cloak was definitely too long for her, but as Gandalf lifted her up in his arms and then onto the horse with an easy, economic movement, she found that it didn't really matter.

"You know, you're reacting very calmly for a man who just saved a girl from another World from a Warg," she said, settling oddly on the large horse. It was odd to feel how the animal was… Well, alive beneath her, its breath steady and calm beneath her thighs, moving softly inwardly and then outwardly.

He laughed again, deep and rich.

"I could say the same to you, to be so calm for a girl who stepped into a new World, Lady Beatrice. But I am a Wizard- It is more concerning when odd things do not occur."

Despite everything, Bea couldn't help but laugh.

" I don't think I'm registering the fact that I'm here just yet... And call me Bea, please, Beatrice is something my mother calls me when I'm in trouble."

He frowned.

"My dear, Child, who says you are not?" he said, calmly, seriously, "Despite my rescue of you, you are in a foreign land, with no indication of how you came to be here. Trouble is an adequate if an understatement of what you are in."

And with that, he flipped the large, voluminous hood over her head and set off at a steady, but quick pace on foot, leading with reins in hand and with Bea clutching at the horn of the saddle with a startling realization that he was very, very right.


	2. Talking With A Wizard

**Talking With A Wizard**

_(Or Both Bea & Gandalf Are Confused By the Apparent Cultural Differences)_

_Third Age: Year 2931, Fifth of April_

Gandalf seemed amused, the morning after Bea's tumble into a medievalesque World, as she emptied her entire backpack in front of him(dumped it really, flipped over and shook it like a mad woman and then checked every single one of its pockets). She did so after she had brushed her teeth, feeling as if she had just slept on rock(well, it wasn't too far from the truth, she had found a small rock lodged in the small of her back) and with a taste in her mouth very similar to vomit that she had been hard pressed not to gag. She hummed as she eyed everything below her, organizing things in piles all around her.

While she had spent the previous day and last night just kinda staring at the old man, in a daze and trying desperately to make sense of the fact, that yes, she was in this new world traveling with a Wizard that she was pretty sure smoked the equivalent of this world's weed and not either a, dead in the afterlife, b, suffering from a mental breakdown or c, in some sort of coma. She had come finally to accept, this was not a dream and she had to get her head together because Middle-Earth came with giant man-eating wolves and Wizards of all things.

So of course, she fell back to her fall back of assessing her situation with careful consideration that would make her father proud of her. She stared at her things, the bag she had packed for a light day of Uni and sighed. She laid it all out, carefully on the ground, surrounding her as she sat her hurt ankle elevated slightly with her other leg tucked close to her body, Gandalf busily making breakfast in the soft morning sunlight.

She had in her possession: one composition notebook and folder of assignments for her Classical literature class, one Kindle(sixty-five percent charged), one cell phone(ninety-one percent charged) both of which she turned off last night because she doubted she would find an electric socket any time soon. One pair of earbuds, two chargers, one large metal water bottle that had wonderful insulation, a Powerpuff girl pencil case (seven pencils, an eraser, a sharpener, a variety of colored pens and highlighters), two crushed granola bars and a half eaten packet of beef jerky, one very beat up copy of  _Dante's Inferno_ , several packets of different colored sticky notes, one planner, her taser gun, a can of pepper spray, a Swiss army knife(a gift from her father), two bottles of lotion, hand sanitizer, deodorant, her favorite perfume, a pack of gum(with only ten sticks left), a large comb, a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste(about half full), one bottle of blue nail polish, a nail clipper kit that she had forgotten to take out, her makeup bag (her foundation,eyeliner, mascara, a palette of eyeshadow, a tube of red lipstick, two lip glosses, several tubes of lip balm and a small bag of makeup remover wipes), several hair ties and headbands, a small first aid kit(some anti-spetic, various band-aids of the Mickey variety, some muscle cream and some cough drops), her emergency Aunt Flo kit in its small discrete bag(a large bottle of ibuprofen (just recently purchased), her diva cup and reusable panty liners), the keys to her apartment, an umbrella and her TARDIS wallet(with her student id, bus pass, her driver's licence, her state id, thirty-nine dollars cash, her credit and debit card and couple dollars in change, and finally a beat up polaroid of her family circa the 90s).

As well as her lunch bag, with a large Tupperware container of stir-fry and rice, a small bag of Cheetos and a bag of trail mix, several bags of assorted tea, sugar packets she had hoarded from the student cafeteria, a little crystal container of honey, a fork, spoon, knife and chopsticks, and one apple. Plus, the clothes she was wearing(a good sports bra, plain cotton undies, yoga pants, sweatshirt, and her well-worn boots), the three sets of various studs in her ears and several rings on her fingers, some precious metal but most not so she doubted she could barter most of them(she took off the rings, placing them in her makeup bag as well as her earrings, she rather not lose them or snag them on something).

Overall, she thought she was okay for now, the only things she could find she was missing were nonessentials that she could only really moan and bitch about. Her dad had been adamant and paranoid about packing things for 'emergency situations'- she had seen the man repack his suitcase on Holidays at least five times before he had felt he had everything. And he had passed that paranoia of being prepared to her, she didn't much towards survival gear but it was better than most. She had something to collect water, she had a good, decent knife, basic first-aid, some food though not much, things for her time of the month, some basic hygiene things. She wasn't completely disarmed yet, she had someone with her... She dreaded to think about her period(this world was beautiful but Beatrice had never been too fond of camping and already she had been a bit nervous when Gandalf had told her to 'relieve' herself behind a patch of trees, oh her kingdom for indoor plumbing), or the fact that she had no extra underwear or body-wash or even shampoo-

Bea sighed, tugging absently at the loose braid she had tossed her strawberry-blonde hair into. It would have to do, she was lucky to have what she had. The fact that it had been a light day meant that she wasn't carrying more food- but at least she wasn't carrying her laptop or textbooks to slow her down. She pursed her lips, wondering at the fact that she had so many things in her bag- she blamed her dad badgering to be completely prepared for everything, as a former man of the military but was severally thanking him now. When she saw him again-  _if she ever saw him again-_ she would never make fun of him about it ever again. She also had so many unnecessary things too. She wrinkled her nose at all the gum wrappers and receipts that had been at the bottom of her bag. She wanted to toss them out- but this world was so beautifully untouched- she felt as if she would be a great ass hat if she even burned the trash in Gandalf's fire. She took a measured swig from her metal water bottle.

"My dear girl, what do hope to accomplish?" asked Gandalf, eyes twinkling, pipe in mouth(he seemed to take her constant wrinkled nose at the smell with some grace and had taken to smoking upwind from her), "You will not find the answers you seek within the contents of your pack."

Bea was a grown woman but damn her if what he said didn't make her pout. She turned to him, watching as he elegantly and easily bustled around, he looked old- but something about his movements made Bea wonder if his appearance was just that. An appearance, as the beard, his slightly wrinkled face and the use of his staff as a walking stick only seemed to be necessary when he deemed it too. Both of her grandparents were spry for their age, being about seventy and eighty respectively, but they had nothing on Gandalf's ability to move and seemed older. Maybe it had to do with the world- or being a Wizard...

"Gandalf, I know that. But I feel better knowing what I have on me," she looked at the man again, brows scrunched together. She frowned, and gestured with wild hands, "This stuff, all of this, is all I own. For all, I know it will be the only things that I have left of  _home!_ "

Gandalf hummed, blowing expertly a series of complex rings of smoke as he stirred at sausages and birds eggs he had hunted down. He nodded but did not offer her comfort or false sympathies, somehow sensing that she was just trying to blow off steam. Bea set to putting everything back in her bag, making sure to keep her pepper spray, Swiss army knife and taser (she had few more shots left, maybe three or four if she kept the bursts small) in one of the side pockets and easily within reach before she sat back and sighed. She huddled slightly into Gandalf's cloak, gathering the warm material close in the chilly air. Apparently, Winter had just ended here, whereas on Earth it had been the end of Summer in Connecticut, a little chilly at night, but not as severe as this. She was dressed a little bit warmer than most but that was only because Bea was prone to being overly cold inside air-conditioned classrooms and gym. She wished she had 'left' during Fall so she could have a beanie and maybe some gloves on hand- it had very cold last night, not freezing but cold nonetheless to the point that she had wrapped her hands within Gandalf's cloak and then between her thighs as she had curled as close as the fire as she dared without being within rolling distance.

Unfortunately, all she had was wishful thinking about things she wanted to have.

"Yes, I understand. But you are also not alone in your endeavor, Lady Beatrice."

Bea sighed and smiled warmly at the Wizard-honest to God- Wizard, who had taken her in without hesitation. Well, more like he had boldly declared last night as she had huddled by his fire and had a damn good cry that;  _'You are need of protection and guidance in this world, Beatrice Eurwen-Long and I think it will be no small amount of amusing for me be that protection and guidance, so rest well, Child_ '. Then the old Wizard had turned his back, to sleep on his bed roll, and Bea through her tears, she had seen the night sky, wonderfully vast and she had never seen so many stars. It had made her stare, really, gape at the number of little faraway lights against the dark, velvety sky. She had never seen so many stars, and it she had doubted she was in a new world the stars were more than enough to prove to her that she really wasn't in Kansas anymore. She had brought Gandalf's cloak close, huddled by the fire and tried to understand the how and the  _why_  she was in Middle-Earth.

But she couldn't really answer that question and neither could Gandalf, but at least he had saved her from a damn Warg while he was at it. It didn't hurt the fact that Gandalf more or less promised her to try and answer how and why she was in Middle Earth- They were on their way to 'Rivendell or Imladris' a home of some great friend of his and a freakin' Elf (that really weirded her out but it was mostly because she kept picturing House Elves but knew that was quite right from Gandalf's descriptions) who would 'Shelter her' and possibly be able to find something to 'Send you off to Kansas'. That had made her snort and then point out that she was from Bellflower California, not Kansas but she lived in Connecticut. He had only laughed at her and patted her head.

"No, I'm not. And thank you for that. But I did read somewhere that in a survival situation you should assess what you have anyway. I wouldn't be my father's daughter if I didn't do it!"

He blinked at her, offering her the sausage and eggs to her with a flare. She only took one egg and one sausage, deciding to eat her stirfry and rice now before it went bad and tossed her slightly wrinkled apple to his horse who had carried her for the better part of yesterday and well into the night before he had made camp by the crystal clear, beautiful river beside them. She felt bad about the poor thing carrying her, even if she was grateful for it to begin with.

"You can read?" he asked, in quiet delight.

Bea shrugged.

"Well, English and some Chinese- From where I come from, most people can at least read English. But I'm also a student, I have to do it quite often."

"English? Chinese?"

"Um, the language we're speaking now? The language of my mother's country,  _Wǒde míngzì shì Beatrice*_."

Gandalf furrowed his brow.

"By my understanding, we are speaking Western, child. And I can gather that you introduced yourself but that is more an inference than because I recognized your tongue. It is foreign as is your features. And a student? Of what may I ask?"

"I'm a student of Literature with a minor of Folk Tales and Mythology," she smiled, chin in hand as she used her chopsticks to expertly devour her meal. Gandalf chuckled eyeing her sticks with curiosity, "I love stories- I read so much and it just seemed to be perfect to follow in my mother's footsteps- Only I went into general studies rather than Classical Literature."

"So you are a scholar, a gather of tales, as is your mother? Fascinating."

She wondered, absently if that was a dig at her age, her gender, or her ethnicity. She was sort of used to the digs of her ethnicity- with her bright strawberry-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes set in an Asian face- well she had often had gotten comments of contact lenses and hair dye. Having her brother around her didn't really help, as he had taken after their mother with his dark eyes and dark hair.

She didn't really know where she stood in this Medieval world because of who she was. Her appearance had already caused Gandalf to look at her strange, if only for a second. He also had a habit of calling her 'child' which she could but down to her age, his own apparent age, and not her lady parts... But she wondered. While she had only met Gandalf so far, she figured that the attitude was very similar around this world. She had no idea where the whole gender equality thing was and Gandalf had already made some comments that sounded borderline racist, but not maliciously so she had yet to make a comment on it, after all, cultural differences.

"Sort of. It's more like I'm a student to be a scholar- I'm in my second year of schooling. Or well, of Higher learning."

"Is there lower learning?"

Bea chuckled, genuinely puzzled at the curiosity and befuddlement the old man had.  _Cultural differences._

"Yes. We have mandatory learning in my country from age five or so until the age of eighteen. University or Higher learning is optional, but important to find a good job. It is also very expensive."

"Your King is a progressive man."

Bea blinked and then laughed.

"We don't have a King. We have a series of elected offices that delegate the will of the people. When you're old enough- eighteen- you can place your vote to elect people to represent you and your policies."

It was Gandalf's turn to blink at her, big bushy brows lifting so high up they disappeared beneath the brim of his hat.

"What a strange world."

Bea laughed.

"You're telling me. Do you have a King?"

"I am of an Order of Five, I have no land to call mine, Lady Beatrice, no one rules me! But, there is one in our order, whom we look to, Saruman the White."

She looked him over, at his silvery scarf and somewhat drab robes and watered down blue tones.

"And what's your title, Gandalf the Grey?"

He simply nodded.

"So are there not very many wizards?"

"Only the five. There is Saruman the White, Radagast the Brown, myself- And… You know I quite have forgotten the names of the two blue ones."

She giggled at his face, looking so surprised and sheepish. He more often had this look of quiet mischief, so it was nice to know the old man had different appearances.

"Are you all a family?"

He inhaled sharply, blowing, delicate, crazy designs with his pipe.  _Talk about magic,_ she thought as she watches him make a butterfly with his smoke.

"Of sorts," he said softly, a sort of finality to his tone.

She nodded, getting that it was a topic that wasn't really open to discussion and sighed as she finished her food. When she was done, she got to her feet, tossed off Gandalf's cloak, ignoring Gandalf's pointed look, grabbed the dishes, her Tupperware and chopsticks, and his skillet, his water-skin, and her metal water bottle, grabbed a what looked like a scrub brush as well as some rough animal fat soap that Gandalf had given her after she had gone to the bathroom to wash her hands and limped to the edge of the river. She sat on the very edge on a rock that was warm from the sun, tugging off her boots and socks off carefully, the wrap Gandalf had done last night, and dipped her tender ankle into the river's edge after she had rolled up the skin tight material of her pants. It was cold- colder than she would have thought, but it felt nice on her ankle.

She bent her other leg in a semblance of criss-cross applesauce, close to her body as she leaned over the river. It was beautifully crystal clear, so much so that she could see all the way to the bottom even in the deeper parts of the river. This world was just… So untouched by pollutants. Very unlike the world, she called home. She had never noticed it, really, being a city girl her life(with the few exceptions of childhood trips to the Wales' countryside) but in a world like this, with the grasses green and sky so blue and the land untouched- Well. It made her notice how dirty her world was in comparison. Even the air felt clearer, somehow, easier to breathe.

"What's the name of this river?" she asked, rolling up her selves. She set to fill their water containers( _don't think about germs or brain eating bacteria you have no way of filtering the water right now and you can't die of dehydration on the way to Rivendell_ ) and then scrubbing at both her Tupperware and his plates, skillet, and dinnerware. She felt a little bad about cleaning in the river, but, well, she didn't have much choice about it.

Gandalf, almost out of nowhere, sat on a rock near her, making her jump as he spoke:

"It is the River Lune, it comes from the higher mountains of Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains," he gestured with his staff, to the large, looming mountains that she could see over the tree tops, "It's why it's so cold," he said pointedly and Beatrice quirked her lips at him as she looked at him.

She shrugged, wincing slightly at the dull ache of her shoulder. Whatever Gandalf had put on her shoulder had done wonders for it, in fact for most of her relatively minor injuries, but it hadn't magically cured them either.

"This world is so beautiful," she said softly, wiggling her pastel-green painted toes within the river, watching as the pale appendages were surrounded by little silver fishes, "I've never seen a river so clear."

Gandalf hummed.

"What sort of world do you come from, then?"

She hummed back, raising her eyebrows at his very curious and aghast question. Just feeling the soft current against her slightly aching ankle. She rolled up her other pant leg and dipped her other foot in, placing down all of their cookware and dishes to dry on the rock next to her.

"Oh, I don't know how to answer that. It's a good world, I can't really complain about it too much, I mean, it's loud and most of its paved with cement and asphalt," she gestured with her arms, before she leaned back on her elbows, just enjoying the warmth of the sun, "And you can't even see the stars at night because of the light pollution, but… It's home. It's full of people I love, and there are beautiful things to it as well. Like the trees in the fall or the birds you see in the trees around my school's campus..."

"I am sorry I offer no solution to your plight yet, Lady Beatrice. You must miss your home and your people."

She laughed, it was a bit bitter but she couldn't help that. It had only been a few hours, really and while she understood that she was somehow in another world after being chased by a Warg- well. It's hard for her to panic, it had settled in and she was working to solve it but it hadn't really  _hit_ her. She wanted to cry again like she had last night, but Bea had never seen the value of crying too much, she would cry when she needed to but at the moment she didn't. She had cried herself to sleep last night because she hadn't really thought to do anything else. Today, with the sun shining again and with the comfort of having someone with her, even a weed smoking Wizard, made her have a level head over everything. Crying would get her nowhere, and because of the Wizard, she had a plan. A plan was good.

Kept her moving.

A plan is what had made her decide to move cross country and attended an Ivy League school on a scholarship and move in with a complete strange. A plan is what had made her fight in a fencing tournament with a broken leg and not tell her instructor about it until afterward with a faint plea to take her to the hospital after she had gotten her ranking at the end. A plan is what would keep her moving forward, no matter what would happen. A plan kept her sane.

"I wonder if people have noticed I'm missing. I was supposed to have practice with my Captain, Will, at seven. I'm hardly ever late… Oh God, Megan is going to feel awful."

"Captain Will? Are you on some sort of militia? Megan?"

"No, I'm on the fencing team," she shook her head at his thought, sitting up slightly, slapping her feet slightly at the top of the water, "It's a sport! With swords! I represent my University- my school. It's how I was able to afford it. And Megan is my roommate. She usually rides the bus with me- um, think of it as a carriage I guess- when it's late, she left early to spend some time with her significant other."

"Significant other? What makes them so? Roommate? My word Beatrice I do believe you say the most nonsensical things."

"Her significant other is another way to say her lover," she wondered faintly how the man would react if he knew that her lover wasn't male, or the fact that Megan and Leah weren't married(yet, she knew that Megan had her ring in her purse for months and had been trying to find an amazing way to propose), "And roommate is slang for she and I live together and split the rent and amenities so we can afford it."

He nodded, but he still had a sort of confused look on his face. She sighed. They sat in silence, Bea just enjoying the sun and the feel of the river's current on her feet and ankles, Gandalf enjoying his weed.

"May I look at your injuries again?"

Beatrice nodded, and took out her feet from the river, shaking them slightly and dried them with the rough fabric he handed her(from nowhere, this man did know magic). He carefully went over all her injuries, set more salve on them and seemed pleased as he bound her ankle and patted her temple with soothing hums and that lyrical language. He turned away while she put back on her sweatshirt again, rolled down her leg pants and put back on her boots.

"We best be on our way, Beatrice. We have many leagues to travel and I fear it best to move now."

She nodded, grabbed his cloak and clasped the pin, before putting up the hood. She limped to the camp, put away her Tupperware into her lunch bag before she put that in her large backpack, before she set it across her shoulders underneath her cloak(she would set across the haunches of the horse like the Gandalf's saddlebags but she wanted to keep her backpack, her only possessions in Middle-Earth close). She sat down and waited as Gandalf put away his things. She kept a careful eye, so that next time, she could help him. He saddled his horse again, patting it with whispered words of comfort, before he turned to her, offering his hand. Bea took it with a slight smile. With help by Gandalf, she was on the horse, and he jumped behind her, off the saddle. Offering her more comfortable place, she thought, with a faint smile. She grabbed the saddlehorn and relaxed as his arms came up around her. He didn't need to sit in front of her to see, as even sitting down he could see easily past her head.

"Hold on. We ride long and hard, Beatrice."

She nodded, shifted slightly, and they were off, further into Middle-Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the Hobbit or the Lord of the Rings, its world and characters belong to Tolkien, its publishing and broadcasting house.
> 
> This is me just making misshapen sandcastles in its sandbox.
> 
> Edit: 27 June 2017
> 
> *1 Wǒde míngzì shì: My name is. As a note, I do not speak nor read Chinese, in any sense. Only my character does, and I apologize if my romanisation of the phonetic Chinese is off, as I'm using google translate and I know how dodgy that can be. Any corrections or mistakes pointed out would be appreciated. It won't make many appearances in the story, just the odd phrase and swear word here and there, the same thing with Welsh, which Bea can't read but can speak and understand okay.
> 
> I've only every seen the Lord of the Ring Movies, but I have read the Hobbit book, and obviously, have seen the Hobbit movies. If there's anything I'm not sure about within the world, I'm consulting online sources and going back from what I know from the book I have read. If I make a mistake, put down to my ignorance of the later books, or an embellishment on mine part. The reason I've haven't read the Lord of the Rings... Um... Well, it's really long and from what I heard not as funny as the Hobbit book, written in a different tone and much more detailed in comparison to the Hobbit. It's on my list of books to read... But I'm not quite up to it yet. Plus... I need to limit my fandoms. I'm writing too many fanfictions as it is.
> 
> I will hardly ever update this often. But I've been really into The Hobbit lately and did a marathon yesterday... And... Well, yeah. this is out. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as it more of establishing Gandalf and Beatrice's relationship. That of a wayward girl who tumbled into Middle-Earth and an amused Wizard trying to help her out. I hope you enjoyed, and please drop a review if you have any questions, comments and because reviews are the life-blood of fanfiction authors.
> 
> ~Happy Reading,
> 
> Moon Witch '96


	3. Story Telling To A Wizard

**Storytelling To A Wizard**

_(Or Bea Is Rudely Interrupted)_

_Third Age: Year 2931, Twenty-Third of April_

Bea had always liked road trips. Traversing the Wales' countryside while her parents argued about the map, her brother singing at the top of his lungs and Beatrice trying desperately to tune him out and read her book had been a staple and a series of fond memories of her childhood. Especially since the older she got, the less frequent these trips had occurred. The last time she had taken one, she had been fifteen and like always visited her Nan and her 'Da and that was nearly six years ago( _her throat tightens at the thought that she would never see her only living grandparents again_ ). But, that had been from the comfort of a rented car, avoiding the frequent rain and fog that often misted over the slick roads, with small inns plentiful before the small remote town that her grandparents had lived in all their lives.

There was no such thing here in Middle-Earth.

Well, at least no such thing when you were traveling on horseback and with a weed( _that's seriously what he called it_ ) smoking Wizard. The land of Middle-Earth in Spring was, if anything, grey-skied, windy and foggy, with few sunny days in between, but at least she had skipped the rainy season, as Gandalf had pointed out. Still, they didn't have a tent, only a single bed roll between them, had minimal rations and only the Wizard's staff for protection. Well, that and Bea's taser or at least, the few shots she had left, her Swiss army knife and pepper spray. And her special brand of whoop-ass via her martial arts skills. Rusty as they were, as it had been many years since she had used them in any sort of situation other than to keep them up, as she had been in competitions since she was young but had dropped them in favor of her fencing.

Which, she doubted would be much use if she would be up against Wargs or anything similar nasty. She had been nearly mauled by one with a bad leg and by the attire and general attitude of her companion, she had a faint feeling that this world was really medievalesque which meant armor and swords and things like that. She wasn't sure how well her 'long-fisted' wushu would do up against someone with a sword and she wasn't eager to find out. Gandalf had said something about Trolls and Orcs(no clue to what the hell that was)- But she really hoped he was either A, kidding, or B, that she would never meet whatever the hell those things were. She did do some tai-chi in the morning to stretch her limbs and prepare it for the long days of riding and walking ahead, much to the Wizard's confusion when he had watched her go through the slow moving stances with the air of someone who did them often.

" _Is this some ritual of your Homeland?" asked Gandalf, the first morning he had caught her doing it._

_Bea slowly extended her arm, humming. Gandalf had just woken up- it was like a race to see who would wake up first. Gandalf often rose with the sun, with Bea on his heels. Sometimes she did it first when she had gotten used to the reverse hours of Middle-Earth(extremely like jeg-lag)._

" _Um, yes and no? It's not a religious ritual. It's a form of martial arts. My mother specialized in Changquan Wushu, erm, 'Long-fist' 'Martial Art' if you will. But she knew some bits of others, mostly Tai-Chi. I grew up doing this every morning," she snorted as she remembered how obnoxious her brother, Arthur could be as he went through the forms, complaining that he was not an old lady and didn't need to do it even if he got up each morning to do so," It's supposed to ensure a good long life, and.., Well, I've found it's a good way to wake up."_

_He stared at her, eyes twinkling._

" _Fascinating. Would it be inappropriate to join you, my dear?"_

_She smiled._

" _Not at all… I'm used to doing it with my roommate, Megan… And her gir- um, our neighbor, Leah, before we go to school," she stumbled slightly, not sure whether or not he would react negatively towards her roommate._

_She wasn't ashamed, but she was in a new world and a world that seemed to be stuck in an intellectual time before women were considered more than just baby makers, and that love was not just something ascribed to conventional means, and it worried her more than she cared to admit. Her face had already raised some curiosity, her occupation seemed to be while not outlandish, surprising to Gandalf. Bea herself was not attracted towards women. But she didn't know what living with a Lesbian would cause here in Middle-Earth. It had caused some trouble back home and it was already in a world where anyone could get married to any gender they wished._

_The Wizard, laid his staff down, seemingly ignoring or not noticing her little stutter and set to copying her movements. He was in very good shape, despite his old appearance, and took to the slow and bending forms with ease and only a few mistakes. She smiled at him and continued her forms, every once and while, correcting something he had done wrong._

Frankly, over everything, from being exposed to the elements, to the long days and uneasy nights... Bea was confident to say that only having one change of clothes? Sucked the most. She bathed as often as she could, which wasn't much, three times in the course of two weeks and had washed her clothes just as often. Even with the plentiful rivers, streams, and lakes that seemed abundant in Middle-Earth, it wasn't as if she and Gandalf could camp by one each night, or even take a long break in the precious sunlight. She would have to dry out her clothes by the fire, waiting as Gandalf guarded her, her backpack with his back turned as she huddled in his cloak and little to nothing else. It was sort of impossible not to trust him- Magic aside, Gandalf was her only form of not dying in this place and he had yet to turn around, not even when a noise had sounded off and nearly scared Bea out of her wits when a rabbit had hopped by.

Gandalf had politely pointed out that the closest true settlements were Bree or the Shire, other than a few disjointed farmers that lined this wild place and he would not be able to provide her with clothing or 'proper' supplies until they made it to the outskirts to the Shire at the earliest. They would have to make due to what the land provided them, be it the greens they collected on the side of the road(Gandalf was quick to point them out to her, making her memorize what she could, what she couldn't, she wrote out in her literature notebook, making crude drawings of the, well, alien plant life in the unlikely event that she and Gandalf were separated), and any animals the Wizard could snare in a trap or even fish in the rivers.

The Wilds, as he emphasized in such a way that implied a capital 'W' were indeed, that,  _wild_. The landscape was, as a principal, it seemed, hilly, covered in forests and the only sign of any sort of human disturbance being the great, sort of jagged earth-packed road that she and Gandalf traveled on. She had yet to meet a single person beyond Gandalf, which she realized about a two weeks into their trek, was the luckiest thing that could have ever happened to her because otherwise, she would have been wandering for days with little food, little skills in the wilderness and nowhere near anyone that could help her.

"There's the Blue Mountains that belong to the Dwarfs, of course, and they have many caravans that come to and from the mountains, but you are a learned girl, you wouldn't have thought to go in that direction and found the road or even the lowest of their carved settlements," he had said, softly, walking alongside his horse. In his hands, he had both his large magical staff and in the other, the reins, "If what you claim is true, then they are no race of Dwarfs, in your world, so the Mountains are not exactly prime to settle in, I'd expect."

"The only dwarfs I know are the Seven from Snow White, the fairytale," she said with some humor, as she brushed rapidly through her tangled hair. She used quick strokes and pulled through her hair with a small hum.

She pulled her hair up into a ponytail, hating how dry and stringy her hair felt, as Gandalf's dwindling animal fat soap was really rough on her delicate skin and hair. She grabbed a headband, a plain, cloth one, and used it to push away any stray hairs from her face and the nape of her neck. It was morning and they had just left their campsite. The sun, large and yellow, was steadily getting warmer and more frequent the further East they went, but soon it was covered in the customary gray clouds. She absently put up the hood of Gandalf's cloak, a habit he had instructed her to keep religiously in case they met anyone on the road( _'As lovely as you are, Beatrice, I rather not attract more attention than it is due to me'_ ). Gandalf seemed to like walking more than riding his gallant, white and gray speckled horse. Maybe it was because of her initial ankle injury, or because he suddenly had an extra hundred pounds to carry with him, or maybe because Gandalf liked to walk or he was being a gentleman- You could never know with the old man. But more often than not it was Beatrice on the horse, with a few sporadic bouts of them riding together before the Wizard slipped off and walked along side the horse at a steady, fast pace that had Bea's feet aching at the thought. She walked sometimes too, but only to stretch her legs and to relieve her sore ass from riding so long.

They were traveling kinda quickly, but Bea had never been a Marathon runner, she had stamina to battle with a rapier and thick protective gear, but not the stamina of someone who went cross country across an entire continent(she had nearly fainted at the sight of the distance she and Gandalf had to cross to get to Rivendell). While she did have a sore butt and aching thighs from riding the horse and being very decidedly not used to it, she was grateful for the horse all the same. He was a great big stallion named Sonata, a wonderful thing that was carrying her tiny, flat behind as far as he had. She was going to miss the calm, gentle creature once they traded him off for another in Bree.

"Fairytale?" questioned Gandalf, tipping his great, pointed hat a little to squint at her.

"Stories told to children to teach them moral lessons or simplistic differences of good and evil. Snow White is a German fairytale that gained prominence thanks to the Jacob and Wilhelm Grim, a pair of brothers who collected various stories from across Europe- a continent on Earth and compiled them into a series of volumes to be published in 1812 and not just be told orally," she rattled off automatically, her trivia spewing out of her as was her habit, smiled as she settled her hands in Sonata's soft mane, threading her fingers through it, "I adored them as a child."

Gandalf hummed.

"And how does such a tale go?"

Bea blinked and quirked her lips. She had never met anyone who didn't already know the story.

"Are you that bored?"

"My dear Lady Beatrice, I merely fascinated to what sort of moral story your world has made," he said, haughty and drawing himself up, "But of course, to tell me stories of your homeland would bring us closer, eh, my friend?'

She hummed, laughing silently at his sly expression. In the course of their time together, short as it was, he had never called her friend. But she guesses dragging someone with you in such hard conditions made quick friendships. She certainly saw as him as friend, being alone with the man for two weeks( _two weeks is too long, she knows she must've been reported missing, that her parents and brother, Megan, Leah and Will, the rest of her friends and family, are freaking out, maybe even thinking she was dead_ ) could lead to little else. She leaned forward towards him and raised a brow.

"I'll tell a story and then you'll tell a story, how's that for passing the time?"

He smiled, wide.

"Yes quite, that is very acceptable."

"Once upon a time," she began, voice soft, finding her lips quirked at the cliche words automatically, "lived a Queen and King, fair and just. They loved each other dearly, wanted for nothing except for one thing- a child. They had yet to have an heir for their wonderful kingdom. It was in winter, that the Queen looked out of her window one day, spinning her wool and disparaging on how her womb was just like the Dead Winter landscape beyond her window."

"What were their names, from what kingdom did they hail?"

Bea, despite being interrupted, found it amusing to see the old man look so inquisitive. He was blinking at her, great bushy brows furrowed and lips purse. She shook her head.

"Gandalf, with stories like these, names don't really matter."

He frowned, a face almost comical in the distress.

"And why ever not?" he sounded so offended and so confused, that she couldn't help but laugh.

She gave him a soft squeeze on the shoulder.

"Because they're general tales- it's like putting a name to the air or sky, it's not about who these people are, but what they represent! They are nameless and can apply across cultures and peoples. The version I'm telling you is only just one- There are thousands of variations of it that have been adapted, just as vague and unconnected to anyone person. Now hush, no interrupting until after the story is over!"

"As you command, Lady Beatrice," He gave a very good bow despite the fact that they were moving at a relatively rapid pace. Bea, for all her grace and athleticism, would have fallen flat on her face.

"As the Queen spun her yarn, lamenting over her lack of a child, a raven sounded above her in a loud squawk. Startled, the Queen slipped and pricked her finger on her spindle. She bled exactly one drop, onto the white snow that had gathered on the windowsill. It was so stark, the color, that because of it, the Queen wished, wished dearly, that she would have a child, a child whose skin was as white as the snow, hair as black as the raven's wing and lips as red as the blood," she recited, half remembering the details of the tale, she could take out her Kindle to say the actual translated version from the Brothers Grim, but she was waiting for a place where she could start to transcribe some of her favorites over to paper… Just in case, "And within the next year, the Queen gave birth- only she died in the process, giving life to a baby girl, whose skin was white as snow, hair as black as a raven's wing and lips as red as blood. With her dying breath, she named the girl Snow White."

Gandalf blinked, large eyes an icy blue, curious and alert. Beatrice smiled.

"You see fit to name the girl!"

"I didn't name her. It's just how the story goes. Gandalf, do you honestly ever expect for someone to be called Snow White?" she replied, giggling.

He sniffed.

"I have known many girls of men be called 'Snow'," he replied with a casual shrug, a gesture he seemed to have mimicked from her.

She smiled.

"Yeah, well, in my world it's not a typical name. I mean, can you imagine what they would've named me if they followed that set of naming logic?"

He looked at her, with quirked lips.

"Perhaps you are right. I apologize for my interruption. Continue, please."

"It was not very much time before the King saw that as the girl grew, she was in need of a mother's guidance- So he remarried, a beautiful noble woman whom he could no fault in. But she held a wicked heart and demeanor to anyone in front of her, save for the King himself. And the new Queen was indeed beautiful, so much so, that her enchanted mirror would attest to it- Every day, the woman would go to it and recite, 'Mirror, Mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all' and he would reply, 'Why it is you, my Queen'. It wasn't long after their marriage that the King himself died, leaving the young princess Snow White at the mercy of the cruel, step-mother."

"Surely the advisors of the King would have prevented such a match- or even removed the woman from power until a suitable husband could be found for the poor Princess to ascend into power herself?"

_Ouch. That was definitely sexist. And you were doing so well, Gandalf._

Bea ignores it. She wasn't particularly confrontational- she was called the 'Golden Dragon' only because she was ferocious and overwhelming when she donned her mask and jacket and wielded her blade. She wasn't a social justice warrior, she left that to her brother, Arthur. Gandalf was kind and had saved her life in a lot of ways. He had yet to call her an Easterling again, whatever that meant, or made a sly comment on her gender in the two weeks they had traveled together. That comment, while a little cringy, was most likely the attitude that prevailed over most of Middle-Earth. He hadn't meant it maliciously, nor to offend or even in a condescending manner.

It just was.

While she was annoyed by it yes, she couldn't exactly go off on a tirade over it either. This was his world- his culture- she couldn't change it by strong-arming her way through their perceptions. Much as she wanted to.

"Gandalf, this is just a story. You shouldn't think too hard about the details. It most likely never happened, you have to suspend some disbelief for it," she said patiently, both amused and annoyed.

He hummed and shook his head.

"Every story has a base in truth, Beatrice."

She nodded, agreeing.

"Yes, but truth get's distorted, stories change, embellishments to make it more interesting are added, parts are taken away to keep the story following. It's just human nature."

He looked at her, blue eyes, icy and clear. Stared straight at her, something like a shiver went down her spine, because his face was almost- Well, she would almost say it looked inhuman for a second. Something other in the way his eyes looked at her. But then it was gone and the friendly, if a little sly old man that had found her in the forest looked at her with a serious expression.

"That is true. Continue your story, if you please," he asked before he turned his gaze back to the road.

Beatrice swallowed, looking at him, and his blank face, before she followed his advice:

"It was one morning that -" she starts up again, but stopped when a very, very large figure jumps into the middle of the road. Sonata stops, as does Gandalf.

Bea blinks, staring at the figure in the road- He is dressed just Gandalf is, medievalesque, not in a robe but in a tunic and really tight, rough spun pants and big dirty boots. Most of him is dirty, in fact, covered in grime and leaves. But what alarms her the most is not that, but rather the fact that he is touting a very large, very sharp looking broadsword that is nearly as long as Bea's waist is high. That and a very, very leering grin. Bea gasps and the man looks at her, covered as she is in Gandalf's cloak and his grin widens. He licks his dry, cracked lips.

" A'ight, no funny business old man, give me yeher ho'se an' a'l yer coin an' no 'arm shall com' to the both of yeh," he says, in a low, threatening voice, his eyes, dark as pitch go to her again, and shine with something that automatically makes something curl in her stomach in sheer disgust, "Better ye' leave me the wench, too."

Bea blinks as Gandalf comes to stand in front of them. He strides forward with his staff hitting the ground, leaning against of it heavily as if he needed it.

"I do believe," he starts, voice just as pleasant as when he was talking to her, "That you are making a mistake. Back into the woods, boy, and leave me and the girl in peace."

The bandit snorts.

"Old man, yer in no place to order us 'bout, ain't that 'ight boyos?" he calls and at his beckoning, three more men come from the trees, tall and big brutes just like him.

Bea's heart is hammering very loudly and she feels herself go into a cold sweat. She shifts uneasily in the saddle, not knowing to get off and join Gandalf in a prime position to defend himself or grab the dangling reins and book it-  _Oh God that sounds terrible. I won't abandon Gandalf._  It was a sudden thought and she feels like shit because of it, but as she watches the old man she knows with a swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach that she is only human and it's two against four.

"Gandalf?" she whispers, hands clammy and tightening on the saddle horn.

"Stay on the horse, Lady Beatrice," he says, deadly serious. He does not turn to look at her and he draws himself up to his full height.

It wasn't that Bea hadn't noticed that Gandalf was tall- he was one of the tallest people that she had ever met, easily at least six feet and then some, but he didn't usually have the appearance of someone that was enormous. He was thin, not quite lean but with the faint physique of an older man, with a soft presence and much lighter feet than his heavy boots implied( _he had snuck up on her many times_ ). It didn't help the fact that he was usually slightly bent over as if he was like the old man he appeared to be. But that little straightening of his spine set off alarm bells in her head, watching as her friend stood ready to defend her.

Fumbling, she reached for her taser, eying their various weaponry with trepidation. But all the same, she cocks it, ready to shoot if she has too. She has the home advantage that no one would look at her taser and think weapon.

The four men laugh.

" 'Ook at tha' boyos, we hav' a Lady in our mists!" cried one, swinging a crude club across his shoulders, a big great thing that was as wide as Bea's waist at the end and studded with crooked and rusted nails. He grins, showing nothing but rotting teeth and bad intentions, " Forgive me 'or no' bow'in yer Lady-ship!"

"Ne've had me a bitch 'ith class!" said another, sporting two wicked and jagged knives.

"An' yeh won' Ben, tha' girlie is min'!" said the man with the sword, shooting Ben- _It was such an ordinary name_ \- a dirty look.

Ben smirked, curling his rough and long beard.

"Yeh won' hav' 'er al' 'ight. Give me what'ev is lef', the loot is for sharin', Tom!"

_Oh, you son of a bitch, I'm aiming for the balls._

"A'right. I'll giv' 'er to yeh when I'v had me fill. Now, old man, step as'ide!"

"I'm afraid, Tom," said Gandalf, voice darkening in a way that sent a shiver down her spine, "That you find I will not step aside. This girl is under my protection and I have sworn to her that no harm shall come to her."

The four men laughed again.

"Wat's an ol' man gonna do to us, eh?" called the last one, touting a double blade axe.

Gandalf hummed.

"You would be surprised what a single old man can do. Now I ask you, let us pass."

The four men did not move.

But Gandalf did, a single step forward and then he brought down his staff with a loud cry. Bea had to close her eyes at the brightness. When she could open them, the four men were wheezing on the floor, reaching for dropped weapons, scrambling for them really. Beatrice readied her taser, wielding it and hoping to Jesus her aim was good enough as Tom got up first and charged with a roar, side-stepping Gandalf and heading towards her and Sonata. She pressed the trigger with a faint swear, watching with a wince as the big man convulsed, she let go of the trigger as he fell. Gandalf, seemingly on instinct turned and kicked the man towards the other three as he fell, tumbling into their legs and knocking back the men again.

_Three more shots at most._

" 'Em be witches," cried Ben, holding up his knives, instead of offensively, but defensively.

Gandalf snorts, twirling his staff.

"Certainly not. I am Gandalf and Gandalf means me," he said with authority and Bea watched with slight surprise as all the men cried out.

In pure, unmistakable  _fear._

"Sp'ar us!"

"Mercy!"

Gandalf hummed. Unlike before, it was not a pleasant sound, but harsh and guttural.

"Mercy? What mercy would you have to us, two lone travelers! For the girl, to impose yourselves on the fairer sex! For any else that have crossed your path? For all, you knew I was an old man with his ward. You beg for mercy? I will show you mercy," cried Gandalf, loud and thunderous.

He twirled his staff again, body movements fluid and graceful. He called out again, a voice in that lyrical language that sounded like thunder in her ears, impossibly loud and booming, and all four men were unconscious. Gandalf's body sagged. He leaned against his staff before he turned to her.

"Has any harm befallen you, Beatrice?" he said, voice gentle.

Bea blinked.

"No. No. I'm fine."

"He charged you," he said, again in that soft voice.

She lifted up her taser, wiggling it a little.

"I got him."

It was Gandalf's turn to blink.

"Now what in the name of the Valar is that?" he asked sharply.

She shrugged helplessly.

"A taser gun."

"It caused him convulsed much unnaturally," he said, frowning, "Are you a witch?"

"No. No, I'm not a witch," she said, confused, because he was looking at her warily than, with those startling blue eyes and in a way that made her feel very small, "It's a self-defense weapon- It shoots out two electrical barbs and sends a series of pulses through the body. It's suppose to stop an attacker long enough so someone can get away."

He continued to frown.

"Show me."

Bea frowned miserably.

"I can't. It has a limited amount of charge- and I have no way of powering it when it's gone. I rather have it then need it later."

He walked over to her, still frowning and extending a hand. Seeing no harm she handed over the taser.

"Don't squeeze the trigger," she stated, pointing at it.

Gandalf nodded, voice whispering that lyrical language.

"What an unusual adornment," he said, pointing at the wonky heart.

Suddenly, Bea felt a lump in her throat.

"It was my brother's idea of a joke," she said thickly, "I was moving so far away and he didn't like the idea of me running around without some sort of weapon to defend myself in case… I don't know. He thought it was funny. I thought it was ugly and stupid."

She looked at it, that stupid wonky ass heart that her brother had probably spent hours on. He was terrible at crafts. She felt her eyes sting with tears and felt very vividly the fact that she hadn't talked to her brother in months- she had texted, a quick idiotic snap-chat making faces and short videos screaming nonsense at each other, a friendly comment on his Facebook, but not  _talked_ to him directly. He was so busy practicing for his upcoming recital and she was busy getting back into the trend of a Fall semester in Uni.

"Such a stupid ugly thing that took him hours to glue because he can't work something as simple as a hot-glue gun," she whispered, and whipped at her eyes, "I told him he was an idiot when he gave to me. I miss him so much. I miss my mum and dad. I want to go  _home._ "

Gandalf lowered the taser. He simply placed a hand over her's, which were clenching into fists on her thighs. Slowly, he uncurled her fingers from its fist, one hand at a time, before clasping her right hand. She sobbed, the stress and adrenaline finally wearing off- they had been willing to  _kill Gandalf- rape her and rob them_. She was in a medieval world despite her plan to find her way home, it was so much to take in. She buried her face into her hands.

He let her cry. Just simply hooked her taser on his belt, grabbed the reins, lead Sonata around the unconscious gang and jumped behind her. She curled into herself and when his arms came around her. He urged the horse on and they traveled that way for the majority of the day. Quiet and Beatrice simply letting the tears fall, even when she felt she had cried her fill, the tears still fell. When she was done, still couldn't speak nor do anything but hug herself. The only action she did was swing around her backpack, fish for her wallet and take out the polaroid of her family before she put her wallet back.

She had stolen the photo from her mum's many albums, seen it a few days before she had moved to Connecticut. Just taken it and put it in her wallet so that she could have a little bit of them with her. It was a quick, candid shot- probably taken by a friend. Her brother was about six in the photo, with a wild black thatch of hair and wiggling, laughing as their dad picked him onto his shoulders. He was gripping her father's head, his blonde hair, nearly red, in his little fists. Her mother, small and smiling with hair that was large and probably full of a flammable amount of hairspray, was holding her up, about one year's old, a small little thing in a puff ball of a dress that her mum could hardly get her short arms around. They were all smiling, all facing the camera with animated faces.

She stared at the picture until nightfall, when she could barely see past her hands without the fire. She put away with a soft kiss to it, a stupid action but she hoped, somehow, her family and friends would feel it and know she was thinking of them.

"Dear girl," he said simply, his deep voice carrying over across the fire. She looked up, blinking.

He smiled.

"I do believe, that you were in the middle of a story before you were so rudely interrupted."

Despite herself, she couldn't help but smile. It was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Yeah. I was. Where was I?"

"One morning after the King had died," he prompted, eyes gentle.

Beatrice bites her lip for a second, drew herself up with a deep, centering breath and nodded.

"Right. One morning after the King had died-"


	4. A Hole in the Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Hobbit. All rights belong to the author's family, its publishing, and movie production company.
> 
> This is just me, making misshapen sand castles in its sandbox.
> 
> Wow, that was a long chapter. It's eight-thousand, four hundred and seventy-nine words long. It was supposed to be shorter and have Bea leaving the Shire towards the end... But... Well... This story is just so much fun to write. I just keep adding details and dialogue. So yeah. This is the result of it... Erm, I hoped you enjoyed the chapter, as much as I enjoyed writing it...
> 
> As towards the whole you know, quest to go slay the dragon- I'm going to take my sweet time getting there. Why? Because apparently I want to and after I did the math Middle Earth is roughly the size of North America- It would take several months to cross it and something has to be happening. I mean I'm making time jumps now and again but it's only to keep it from being terribly boring. And I couldn't help but add Bilbo... Because Bilbo damn it. I love the hobbit. He was so fun to write. Anyway, that means that the whole quest to slay the dragon will not be introduced until chapter twelve and she meets the dwarves the next chapter.

  **A Hole In the Ground**

_(Or Bea thinks it's actually quite lovely)_

_Third Age: Year 2931, Third of May_

It's about a month and a half into her journey with Gandalf the Wizard, that Bea sees a change in the landscape of Middle-Earth. There wasn't much to do, traveling on a horse even with a Wizard, other than trade stories and look at the world around her. It was fascinating, despite never being much of an outdoors woman, Bea couldn't deny that there was beauty in the everything here. It was… Just untouched, which was the best way she could describe it. Even the Wales countryside wasn't as untouched as Middle-Earth. Maybe bits of trash strewn about, or the paved roads. It made the world so different, despite

the familiar looking grass or towering pines.

At first, the changes were very subtle. Because of her lack of experience being around a changing landscape, Bea, despite having nothing better to do but look around her didn't notice. In her defense, it was never any big changes. The hills didn't go away, but eased into longer stretches, rolling versus mountainous and somewhat steep. The road, though obviously traveled on, eased into softer, less rocky and even more used. Even the forest, which seemed endless and all that this world was made of, did go away.

_Slowly._

The towering pine-esque trees shorted, changed into different, softer, pastel colored trees. Rounder and closer to the ground. They turned into small little shrubs full of berries(she had both laughed at the fact that blueberries existed in this world and nearly cried, happily helped Gandalf pile them into cloth bags to share between them on their journey) and flowers, before it gave into proper rolling hills with endless grass as tall as her waist. It was beautiful and the sun seemed to hit everything just right.

It was as if the sun had been made to make everything about the land in front of her warm, inviting and safe. They had yet to run in anything after the gaggle of bandits since the incident a while back and Bea had not felt completely safe on the road. She had honestly waiting for something similar to happen, but now, she did. It was about a week into walking through this somewhat tamer land that Gandalf said with a chuckle and an extended flair of his staff:

"Lady Beatrice, I welcome you to the outmost of the Shire," Gandalf, voice pleasant, warm and vibrating into her back.

She smiled, a startled laugh coming to her lips. Because while Gandalf had pointed out what country they were in or 'land' as he constantly corrected her, most had gone over her head. The 'Shire' however, was easy to memorize, rolled off of her tongue a lot better than Forlindon and Harlindon did. There was something foreign about every word, even when Gandalf provided translations or brief meaning to the names of Middle-Earth.

"It's beautiful," she responded, because it was, in a completely different way that what the road to this place had been, and at Gandalf's prompting, they both go off of Sonata.

As the weeks had gone by, Gandalf had taught her to get on and off the horse. It was a bit tricky, considering the saddle, lovely and made of well supple leather, was made decidedly not for Bea's short legs but Gandalf's long ones. She more or less hopped off the large horse and climbed the damn thing inelegantly. She was getting better at it, but she missed the simplicity of a bike or a car( _among many many things_ ). They would take about three and a half weeks to get through the entirety of the Shire, though Gandalf planned on staying in a 'dear friend' home for at least a week to regroup and maybe hunt down some basic supplies before they could do their large purchases in Bree, which was about a week and a half or so out of the Shire.

Bea was more than happy about this and hoped to god that this 'dear friend' had a bathtub.

They walked at a slower pace now, as the grass gave way to farmland. It wasn't because they were in any less of a hurry- but more because the atmosphere of Shire required a sort of leisurely, easy pace. Bea was all for it- she had never moved so quickly and so far in her life by the power of her own two feet, even with the help of Sonata.

They made camp once they had traveled a little bit in the night(It was a clear night, with a large moon so Bea wasn't tripping over her own feet), in a small clearing between two hills with what looked- well, two hills with round green doors. The Shire was like that- A series of hills, some with those round green doors, some with not. All covered with lush green grass and an occasional tree or two. The hills with doors were at first very spaced out, but the further in they got, the more she saw of them bunched together. Overall, of what she had seen of the Shire, it was very  _green._  A different sort of green from the rest of this lush, untouched world- a little bit more tamed. A little more flowers and tidy vegetable gardens then towering trees.

Bea sighed in relief as she finished helping Gandalf set up camp, stretching her sore legs out in front of her, wiggling her bare toes to get some feeling in them: her pedicure was chipping in places and she mourned the loss, while she wasn't the girliest of girls and the whole deal with being on the fencing team made it very hard for her to dress up a lot, despite having makeup on her she was more prone to being bare face than anything. Her nails, however, she could control her nails at least. Her manicure was worse, only the smallest amount of green lay at the base of her nails... Here in Middle-Earth, as much as she wanted to paint her nails, she felt that there were more priorities like resting and helping Gandalf with camp and the like.

As tempting as it was to do.

Bea leaned back, cracking her neck slightly. The spot was warm and the grass was very soft and fragrant. It was getting warmer, actual Spring giving way into the first start of summer. She tries not to think how much time has passed- that she had missed a month of the fall semester and that she was in no way able to join the team that year in Regionals let alone Nationals, even if was able to go home the second she got to Rivendell(It was months away, at least three if she and Gandalf were quick). That she was a month missing in her world- how much her parents were freaking out...

"Thanks," she mumbled as Gandalf handed her her large Tupperware container filled with a simple broth of rabbit, potatoes(where on Earth had he gotten those?) and sage(it was so strange to think that this alien world had some of the same things as her own world but with strange additions here or there). It smelled gamey and rich and it made Bea's stomach rumble in anticipation.

Gandalf wasn't the best of cooks and Bea had never cooked anything over an open fire in all of her life, but she had found that she couldn't and wasn't too picky, especially after hours on the road. She had shared most of her food with Gandalf, who had liked her beef jerky and trail mix, hated her Cheetos for its 'disgusting smell' and seemed to find her granola bars too sweet: most of her food from home was gone, with only wrappers left at the bottom of the bag because she couldn't dare throw it out in this wonderful world, or bare to part with the stupid shiny reminders of home.

She had a bit of beef jerky left and a single crushed granola bar and seventeen of the original twenty assorted mix of tea bags she had in her lunch bag. She drank a bit of tea every night, either re-using a bag for at least a few days or taking the brew that Gandalf had with him(it smelled and tasted like Earl Grey with a hint of lavender, which she was more than grateful for). It was a ritual she had gotten into a habit in high school and she was hard pressed to break it now, as it was one of the few things Bea could do here that were impossible.

She missed the simple things, really, not more than her parents or brother or friends, but more frequently. She missed the sounds of cars and the constant noise that came with Earth- Middle-Earth was almost early quiet, with only the occasional break provided by the sound of birds or the odd howl of the wind. She missed the feel of a bed beneath her, of a shower instead of rushing into a streaming and freezing river to wash away the dirt with crude soap. She missed toilets and heating pads for her rather bad cramps(she had already had her period once and oh that had been a mess in a half and had only dared to use one pill per day to take the edge off), she missed the ability to just get up and take a thirty minute walk to an abundance of food.

She missed listening to music, more than the soft humming that sometimes overtook Gandalf. She wanted to blast her music, the loud grudge or her workout playlist that was filled with songs of grinding and sex and money and modern things that just did not exist here. Instead, she limited her cell phone use to once a week, only long enough to snap one picture and listen to a single song before she shut it off to preserve the battery:

" _What on earth is that?"_

_Bea grinned slightly, as Gandalf looked at her. She gestured for him to come with her. She had hesitated in doing this- she wanted to preserve the battery but she was going insane with the quiet of this world. She had finally decided on one song and one picture for the beautiful landscape of Middle-Earth per week before she shut it off. She needed this, to remember where she was from and what she was moving towards. She popped out her earbud, waiting patiently for her phone to power on._

" _It's a cell-phone. I could use it to call or message someone with a similar device, or at least I could if I was on Earth and had a signal. It does so much- but here, sit here."_

_She quickly punched in her pin, ignoring the exclamations of the Wizard as she moved past her Doctor Who wallpaper to click on the little camera icon, switching it quickly to selfie-mood._

" _By the Valar!" cried Gandalf, peering funny at the screen as it reflected back the two of them, "It is a most curious mirror!"_

" _It's has a camera. It captures pictures- Um, think like a painting. But in the phone."_

_Quickly, she brought him closer, pressing into his side._

" _Smile!"_

_She clicked the camera button, quickly watching with amusement as Gandalf exclaimed loudly over the 'likeness' and 'detail'. She wondered if her brother would believe her when she would claim that her the old man in her picture was a Wizard she had tricked into doing a selfie. She smiled, humming along to The Weeknd's 'Starboy'._

She had yet to use her Kindle, instead just listening to Gandalf's stories and throwing in various fairy-tales as a trade off and to pass the time. It was funny, really and most of his stories sounded far fetch and fantastical, even more so than her repertoire of various fairy tales from around the world. He was a Wizard, but Bea was skeptical. He was skeptical in turn of course, but she pointed out that in her world, Magic, if it existed, wasn't normal and had little to do with the actual stories that were most likely fictional. He said in response that, like this world, magic wasn't as frequent as she thought as most had lost the craft…

Bea was still less than willing then to take his stories as something too seriously- She wasn't sure if golf had really been invented by a bodiless head(that was so gross) sailing into a rabbit hole. She totally called bullshit on that one. Also, the story of a dragon slaughtering a kingdom of dwarves and a city of humans? Not her favorite.

"Are you sure we can squat here?" she asked, sipping at her soup with her spoon. The flavor of the thick stew made her nearly groan and gag in the same breath.

Bea found that she really really missed salt, but was also sadly getting used to this type of food. She bet when she got home, her taste in food would be completely shot. Her kingdom for the spice trade.

"Neither of us are squatting, Beatrice," said Gandalf, voice pleasant totally used to her slang to this point that he didn't even as questions- he would just wait for her to explain herself with a witty remark on his part.

Bea pursed her lips.

"I meant can we really stay out by the road like this?"

She pointed at the two hills with the doors and raised a brow.

"Aren't we on their property or something?"

Gandalf shook his head.

"Not at all, Beatrice. This land is unletted for travelers by the Thain- that is the leader of the Shire- there is only one inn in the Shire, but it is on the far side of it. Not enough travelers to warrant more than the one."

She hummed, sipped more of the soup. It was thick and fatty, but at least the rabbit was leaner than the small boar they had been eating for the entirety of the last few weeks. She felt her shoulders relax a bit at the fact that they weren't trespassing. She honestly wouldn't put it past the old man and relished the warmth of their small fire. His cloak hung around her shoulders, draped over her body to hide her clothes, but her face was left out in the open. He had assured her their mere presence would be so scandalous in the Shire that her 'exotic features' wouldn't cause much of a stir.

"Who's there?" called out a male voice, sharply.

Bea jumped about a mile into the air as the voice sounded out, whipping around towards it. One of the round doors, the one on the right, was open and in the circle of large light was a man- or, what Bea would have put as a man. He was short. Even from a distance, she could see that he was shorter than her ridiculously short height, probably about three foot something, with a large belly, and the largest, hairiest feet she had ever seen. He wore smart little-embroidered trousers, a button up shirt that strained against his body and suspenders. She blinked in surprise.

"Oh, crawl back into your smial Mamadas," called out a tired voice, this one female, from the other hill "It's just some travelers on the land between our hills, you idiot."

Bea turned and saw a woman, roughly the same height as the man. She was, unlike the man, in a dressing gown and looked ready for bed, but her bare feet were just as hairy and big. She looked to be roughly about in her late thirties, hair pinned back underneath an honest to God bonnet. Bea blinked rapidly.

"Oh shut your big fat gab, Pervinca!" snarled, Mamadas, he looked at her and Gandalf, squinting into the dark, "What are Big Folk doing in the Shire anyway?"

Bea felt distinctly that the term 'Big Folk' wasn't exactly complimentary. She shifted uneasily in the cloak, very much aware that she last took a bath a week ago and that she was in clothes that had seen better days. Her pants were more or less in the best shape out of everything, but even then they had worn from days of constant use, her sweat-shirt had lost some of its color, her boots and socks were worn down and full of dust. She was tired and dirty and not really feeling comfortable as the man, Mamadas, came stomping down the hill to the fence that was at the very edge of space between the two hills. He was frowning and had his hand on his hips.

Bea automatically flinched away, the attack by the bandits fresh in her mind. She wasn't sure what the world was like, not really. She had a faint idea, the clothes, the way people(well, Gandalf) talked. She was smart enough to make an educated guess. Her only measuring stick was Gandalf and she had the distinct idea that he wasn't the best way to gauge the people of this world:

" _I want to...Ask you something," she asked, the next morning after the subsequent attack via the bandits._

_Gandalf hummed._

" _Yes, Beatrice?"_

" _Is… Is it normal for people to just… Attack like that?" Bea wasn't an idiot, she knew people could be cruel, even evil. She loved forensic shows and stuff like that(In fact many weekends were spent having marathons with her, Leah, and Megan all sprawled on their shitty coach as they watched shows like that), so she knew her world wasn't full of sunshine and fucking rainbows._

_But she had never been attacked in her life. Not so openly not on an open road. She had never even been mugged for Pete's sake. Gandalf sighed._

" _The Race of Men is both entirely giving and heartlessly cruel, Lady Beatrice. I know not of your world- but I know in Middle-Earth that Men can be unforgiving and violent. That is true of much of this world, really."_

_Bea stared at Gandalf, blinking rapidly._

" _It's the same where I'm from- But… There's order. People to solve crimes and…. Serve and Protect," she said simply, thinking of Megan, the Forensics major. The fact that her friend wanted to make the world a better place…_

" _What a wonderful thought."_

_Bea smiled._

" _It's easier because my world is so connected- I guess that's the price of the land. My entire world, you can talk or send a message in an instant across thousands of miles- ah, leagues if you will," she sighed, leaning her arms leaning on her knees, "There is a force- Police- that maintain order and peace."_

"Oh, leave them be Mamadas," called the woman, Pervinca, coming out of the doorway to stomp her way to the edge of her own fence. She looked tired and her face was pinched.

"My good hobbit," said Gandalf cheerfully, looking directly at Mamadas, "We mean no harm. We are simply on a way to visit a friend on the other side of the Shire, nearer to Hobbiton."

The man lifted a bushy brow.

"Oh, what friend would claim you in these parts? A Took I bet," sneered the man, before he stared at Bea, and frowned, "And what be yeh, girlie, with what your narrowed, untrustworthy eyes?"

Bea frowned, a noise of disbelief sounding at the back of her throat.

"Excuse me?" she said voice rising sharply as she stared at the man.

"Oh, Mamadas, apologize to the poor girl. Her eyes are not her fault no more than your tiny feet!" called Pervinca with a frown.

The man growled.

"Oh, I'll be bringing it up with the Thain and your husband, Pervinca Goodchild, mark my words!"

The woman grinned.

"Oh, my Mosco will not be swayed by your grumbling! And yes, go bother Thain Took over your lack feet and manners, see how well that goes for you, Mister Mamadas Tunnely considering you were just dismissing his kin!"

With that, the man huffed, turned on his large feet and stomped back up the hill and slammed his large, round door. Bea was left confused, sort of annoyed over the eye comment and looking over at the woman, Pervinca Goodchild with a wary eye. She was smiling, tiredly but warmly.

"Sorry about that," said the woman, cheerfully, "Mamadas is a bit of an old snob. Always makes a fuss no matter who settles between our hills."

"No issue, Mistress Goodchild," said Gandalf, still as good humored as ever.

"Good, good. I hope you rest well, dears. And Miss? Your eyes are beautiful, never mind what Mamadas said."

With that, the older woman waved and went inside the hill without looking back. Bea blinked.

"Um."

"That, my Lady Beatrice," said Gandalf with a small chuckle, "Was a pair of Hobbits."

She stared at them.

"Um, okay?"

"They are a Race of pleasant folk, whom only live in the Shire, who delight in warmth, food, and comfort."

"They have big feet," she supplied helpfully.

They didn't suffer from Dwarfism, as far as she could see when they had been outside. Their bodies, while on the smaller scale had been perfectly proportioned with the exception of their rather large feet. They looked just... Well, like little people no more than three feet tall. Even Bea, at only 4'8", towered over them.

"Oh yes, remarkably large and hairy, they have thick enough soles that they have no need for footwear at all."

Bea blinked.

"That's weird."

Gandalf looked disappointed.

"Neither Elves nor Dwarfs nor Hobbits exist in your world I take?"

Bea quirked her lips.

"If they do, they were doing a good job of hiding it."

Gandalf sighed. And they both went back to their meal without another word.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

It was about five days later, that they finally appeared on Bilbo Baggin's doorstep, or Bag End, as Gandalf had called it(she had snorted at the name because it sounded just weird, but stopped her snickering when Gandalf had looked at her in confusion). She was tired, achy and really hungry. It was roughly noon and Bea hopped Bilbo Baggins had some food or a bathtub.

She really missed indoor plumbing.

They found him in his garden, on a bench, smoking a long pipe. Bea sighed, as it seemed most men in this world liked to smoke. He was like most hobbits she had seen, roughly about three feet tall, but he was a little taller than most(not quite up to her height, but he positively towered over most people of his race… Subspecies?). With slightly curly bronzish hair, with dark blue eyes and a slightly clever quirk of his mouth, she would think that he was relatively good looking. If she would have to peg his age, she would say about his late twenties in human years maybe early thirties, by his wrinkleless mouth and unlined face. She wrinkled her nose at his casual smoking, sighing tiredly again as she leaned against Sonata.

The little man, seemed oblivious to them, wiggling his hairy toes and puffing out perfect rings from his mouth. Vaguely, Bea was impressed. But she was altogether more impressed when Bilbo's ring was transformed into a butterfly via Gandalf, who waved his weathered hand and made it smack straight into the hobbit's poor face. He spluttered, the poor guy, while Bea bit her lip trying not to laugh because she had been downwind from this world's weed smoke and that was not pleasant(oddly did not smell like marijuana, but that seemed to be a given), but it was sort of funny. He looked over, affronted and then blinked his large eyes rapidly at the pair of them.

_Cue awkward silence._

"Good morning," Bilbo said, finally after what seemed to be an entirety of uncomfortable silence, smiling timidly.

Bea went to respond when Gandalf beat her to the punch.

"What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a  
good morning whether I want it or not? Or, perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this  
particular morning. Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?" he said primly, looking affronted by Bilbo's simple greeting.

Bea stared at him as if wondering if the weed was finally affecting him. His face looked questioning, even offended. The hobbit, on the other hand, just looked somewhat taken aback.

"All of them at once, I suppose," said Bilbo, sounding bewildered, but trying to be pleasant.

Bea sighed and stepped around Gandalf.

"Good morning to you too," she said, smiling trying to be as pleasant to be as possible, despite how hungry and tired she was, she turned to Gandalf and raised a brow, "It's a greeting."

Gandalf raised a brow.

"A rather presumptuous one, if you ask me. You can never know when a morning is good."

Bea laughed.

"It's more of a wish for you to have one, not an indicator of the type of morning."

Gandalf still looked unimpressed. Bea shook her head at him with a roll of her eyes.

"Excuse, me, but can I help you two?"

"Yes," she turned to him and smiled, "So sorry about him. Really, you should be used to him by now, ah, Mr. Baggins. Christ knows I have over the last few weeks."

The hobbit just stared at her as if she had grown a second head. Bea frowned, wondering if she really looked that odd to these people as she shifted uneasily from foot to foot. She was used to it to some extent- blue eyed Asians weren't exactly run of the mill, or strawberry blonde ones… Or had she committed some sort of social gaft by speaking over Gandalf? That wasn't exactly encouraging if just speaking over someone while having a vagina was a big no no... The hobbit was looking at her as if she was crazy!

"I beg your pardon?"

"Um-"

"What she means to say, that she would never expect that  _I_ should have lived to be good morninged by Belladonna Took's son, as if I were selling buttons at the door."

Bilbo frowned.

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

Bea felt her stomach plummet.

"Well, you know my name, although you don't remember I belong to it. I'm Gandalf! And  
Gandalf means … me."

Bea blinked.

"Gandalf...not Gandalf, the wandering Wizard, who made such excellent fireworks! Old Took  
used to have them on Midsummer's Eve," said the hobbit in obvious delight, chuckling slightly.

"Gandalf, I thought you said that we were coming to stay at an old friend's house," she said, pointedly, a frowning at him.

The Wizard was only looking at Bilbo.

"Which is true- Bag End was Belladonna's home and I have every intention of staying here until we have gathered our strength."

"Excuse me?" said the hobbit, looking scandalized.

Bea only felt lost.

"Um," she turned to Bilbo, furrowing her brows, "I'm sorry, he said… That he was an old family friend!"

"Indeed I am. Of his Grandfather and his mother!" said Gandalf, all together affronted.

"Well, I remember that much," said Bilbo, crossing his arms, talking around his pipe with a deep frown, "But I have yet to see you, Gandalf the Wandering Wizard, since my mother and father's funeral.- Forgive me if I don't recognize nor greet you with affection!"

The Wizard frowned. Which alarmed Bea more than she cared to admit. Even against bandits, Gandalf had never really lost his cool. After all, he was a fucking wizard. But this- this was actually bothering him if his somewhat affronted face was anything to go by. He had taken everything in stride, even the girl from another world!

"You've changed and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins," he announced, loudly before he made a rude noise in the back of his throat, "Stay with Mister Baggins, then, my dear, while I go and gather things at the market."

With that, Gandalf hopped on Sonata with surprising speed and grace that had her backing up with alarm as the usually gentle horse reared up with a whinny, and then galloped down the road in five seconds flat.

Bea panicked.

"GANDALF!" she called, stumbling after both horse and Wizard.

He went over the hill before she could even make it five steps her bewildered and-  _alone for the first time since she had stumbled into Middle-Earth._ She swallowed thickly, trying to stop the rising panic and failing utterly as he went over the last hill in her sight, she had no hope of catching up.

"Oh dear," said Bilbo, looking at her with pity as she turned around to stare at him helplessly.

Bea was ashamed that she felt tears coming,  _tears never helped anyone_. She screamed to high heaven, covering her face with her hands:

"He left me!"

Bilbo Baggins was a hobbit- which apparently meant comfort.

"Why don't you come inside," he said, placing a hand on her elbow, she blinked and looked as he offered her a handkerchief, "He did say he would come back, Miss-"

"Beatrice," she supplied miserably, whipping at her tears and snot with a hot face with the offered piece of cloth, "Beatrice Eurwen-Long."

"Bilbo Baggins, Miss Eurwen-Long, ah- well, a pleasure to meet you," he said, blinking curiously at her as her 'strange' surname, no doubt.

Bea smiled, despite herself, at how badly he butchered her surnames. She fisted her hand over the handkerchief.

"Bea is fine, Mr. Baggins, and it's nice to meet you too, despite everything," she said softly, wiping at the tears before they could fall.

Bilbo Baggins smiled, a great big thing that took years off of his already youthful face.

"Then it's just Bilbo to you, Miss Bea."

He brought her towards the door and she was pleasantly surprised that she didn't have to duck into the house through the spacious door way. It was a little shorter than what she was used to, the curious round door, maybe just a half-dozen inches above her head, but the house itself had a towering ceiling, big enough that even Gandalf with his tall frame could probably only just skim the ceiling when he took off his hat. It was not what she expected at all when she had spied the doors in the side of hills. It was mostly wooden in structure, warm toned wood, with smooth plaster walls, painted a lovely cream color, connected everywhere with spots of green and yellow.

It was warm too, pleasantly so. She felt even dingier in the wake of it all, it was clean, inviting and pleasant. She blinked as she stared about in both appreciation and slightly confusing at the entire ordeal she was in. She was in a new world and sometimes it hit again as if she was just understanding her situation. Seeing Gandalf disappear over the hill had scared her more than she ever thought it would- she was independent as a rule but felt nothing like it here in Middle Earth…

She stared at her feet, at the way her laced up boots were covered in dust and grime from the road. She turned to her somewhat unwilling host, moving uneasily on the round carpet just at the door. She eyed the coat rack and fingered the silver clasp of Gandalf's cloak(even after all this time she could call it nothing else).

"Would you prefer it if I take off my boots?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"My boots," she wiggled them in his direction, "Wouldn't want to track any dust on your floorboards. They looked as if you just swept them."

Bilbo beamed at her, puffing out his chest. He clasped his hands together, blue eyes sparkling.

"Yes, yes, thank you, so considerate of you!"

"May I hang the cloak as well?" she gestured to the coat-hanger.

Bilbo just nodded. She undid the clasp, swirling the long material away from her body and folding it the best she could so it wouldn't be in the way. She bent down to undue her laces and asked:

"Where can I put my boots?"

"Just there, by the coat-rack is fine, Miss Bea. The same with your pack," he said, curiously looking at her bright yellow backpack with faint approval.

"Thank you Mister Bilbo," she said politely and took off her socks while she was at it, "But I rather take the pack with me."

She felt grungy and dirty, in her worn sweat-shirt and dusty leggings, but Bilbo made no comment on it. Instead, he guided her away from the door, content to let her gaze at his home in curiosity. She relished the feel of her bare feet against the smooth wood. She went barefoot as much as she could at home and severally missed it.

"Your house is beautiful," she said after a beat of pleasant silence, eying the small, numerous carvings throughout the wooden beams. Simple, stylized flowers seemed to be a frequent theme.

"Thank you, my father built it himself for my mother," said Bilbo, smiling softly.

"I'm really sorry about Gandalf. I really thought you two knew each other," she supplied as he lead her to a small dining room.

He snorted and gestured for her to sit in the chair. Unlike most chairs, it was a surprisingly good fit for Bea. A little bit on the smaller side, but she her butt cheeks were not hanging over the side.

"Oh, yes, well that wasn't your fault, was it? Mind I do like guests, Miss Bea, but I prefer to have both an advance notice and proper knowing of my guest beforehand. Not just vague memories of some old man letting off wiz-poppers and the like as my Grandfather laughed his drunken backside off..."

He paused, blinked rapidly and looked at her with a sheepish expression. Bea herself was just biting her lip to keep from giggling.

"Pardon me, that was rude."

"No ruder than a Wizard demanding you let him stay in your house."

"Or leaving a poor girl to cry with a stranger," he replied, quite quick on his large feet.

Bea gave a lopsided smile.

"You, Mr. Bilbo, are rather funny."

"Funny?"

She sighed.

"Humorous?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, Miss Bea. Now, you have just made it in time for me to prepare my Luncheon, would you kindly join me for my meal?"

Bea grinned.

"Mr. Bilbo," she all but beamed, "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship. I'm  _starving._ "

He grinned back, in sheer delight.

He refused her help, as 'You are a guest, Miss Bea' and apparently in Hobbit culture it was just plain rude to make your guests do anything as far as helping prepare meals and the like. Instead, he only asked if she would like some tea or some nice ale, or even some of his wine, she declined the last two, happy with tea. He then directed her to his bathroom, which, bless him, was indoor and  _was that a mother-fucking toilet!?_  To clean up a bit.

Beatrice, found, as she was left to her own devices inside his bathroom and honest to God squealed at the fact that he had  _plumbing._

"Bilbo Baggins is the fucking bomb," she whispered.

First, she used the bathroom. He even had toilet paper- Not the kind she was used too, but little soft cloths that she tossed in the rubbish bin near the toilet(on the smaller side, but it was at least a god-damn toilet). She washed up in the sink, slipping off her sweatshirt in favor of sort of washing her hair, face and some of her torso(his soap smelled flowery and he had an assortment of fluffy towels to dry herself off). Slathered on lotion and spritzed herself with perfume, as well as used a bit of deodorant. She even brushed her teeth, despite that they were going to eat soon, but she hadn't felt this clean in days and she was going to milk it if it killed her. She wanted to spend about three days in the bathroom, eying the wooden tub with longing, but Bilbo was making  _food_  so she tried to finish as quickly as she could, bringing her hair up into a large, messy top knot atop her head so she wouldn't be dripping all over the wood floors.

Before Bea slipped back on her sweatshirt, she noticed and also wanted to ignore how  _thin_ she was. She hadn't been very chunky, to begin with, she was athletic and tried to keep in shape as best she could(fencing and wushu kinda demanded it), but she couldn't ignore the slight bits of fat that had been over everything. The journey to the Shire, despite the fact that she had been regularly fed, had taken a toll on her. She was leaner, harder in ways she hadn't really noticed, even when she had managed to take a bath in a river. Even her face was thinner, losing the soft roundness that made her blink when she caught her reflection in Bilbo's round mirror above the sink. She wasn't skeletal, nor gaunt- but the thinness showed nonetheless.

In Bilbo's warm and lovely home, it was sort of obvious.

She looked away from her slightly harder reflection and slipped the shirt over her, swung her backpack on and made her way back to the dining room. She padded softly towards Bilbo, smiling as he came out of the kitchen with a teapot, a generous plate of scones, a small pitcher, a small little pot for the sugar, a large container of honey and two dainty little cups set on saucers on an elegant silver tray.

"I hope you approve of chamomile?"

She simply nodded and felt her stomach growl at the sight of the scones- blueberry by the looks of it. She smiled.

"It smells amazing," she said, grabbing her aching stomach as he poured her the tea, "Thank you. Oh, no cream for me thanks just a lot of honey and a bit of sugar."

He doled out a generous amount of honey and stirred before he nabbed a scone for himself. He pushed he placed the cup in front of her.

"I'm making a small pheasant in the oven, roasted, with potatoes! Had it started since this morning and some freshly baked lye-bread- Should be out soon," informed Bilbo, biting happily into his scone, "Of course, there's the side salad, the grilled vegetables and then there's dessert which I hope you like blueberry pie and-"

Bea blinked laughed a little disbelieving.

"I take it that hobbits eat a lot?" she asked, hoping she wasn't being terribly rude as she drank her tea. It was delightful, of course.

Bilbo only nodded, eyes curious.

"Indeed we do. The Race of Men do not eat seven meals a day, I recall?"

She shrugged and bit into a scone. She nearly moaned at the flaky goodness- She had never eaten something so delicious in her life and she already could tell as she scarfed it down(as politely as possible of course), that Gandalf's cooking would be hard to get back to.

"Where I come from it depends- Three a day is the minimum I guess, I mean, that's what I usually ate if I could, but... Seven full meals is kinda of-"

"Excessive?" he said sharply, raising a brow.

She smiled, trying to appear as if she meant no offense, as she really didn't. She lifted her hands in what she hoped was a universal 'I mean no harm gesture'.

"Kinda? I mean, I have a friend who ate several meals a day- but small ones, like a plate of rice and a side of meat. But, between you and me, seven meals a day sounds freakin' fantastic. Especially if it's as good as your scones- seriously Bilbo, I will never be able to eat Gandalf's rabbit stew ever again."

That seemed to appease the hobbit, who beamed and blushed at the praise.

"Oh, I just threw it together- it was made yesterday."

"Delicious, fresh or not."

He smiled and then went back to the kitchen, looking pleased. He kept a constant bit of chatter from the kitchen as Bea polished off two more scones.

"So, from where do you hail?" asked Bilbo, cheerfully.

Bea didn't exactly freeze like an idiot when Bilbo asked her that. She simply paused, cup in the air hooked on her finger, halfway to her mouth. She blinked rapidly and put down her cup with a slight frown. Bilbo flushed, blinking rapidly himself.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was that rude? It was rude," he said, looking flustered.

Bea bit her lip, lifting a hand.

"It's not rude, Mr. Bilbo… Just a really hard question to answer," she said, slowly, legitimately unsure how to answer his innocent question.

Bilbo blinked.

"I, why is that?"

She gave him a tiny grin.

"It's very complicated really. I don't look like many people you've seen, I bet."

Bilbo gave a sheepish grin.

"No, I have to say I haven't seen anyone with your features- I've never seen anyone with such pale skin or thin hair-"

"Or almond shaped eyes?" she said simply, leaning into her hand.

He nodded, smiling before he continued:

"And your clothes! So odd. I've never seen a girl in anything but a dress."

She looked down at her ragged sweatshirt and grimaced.

"I guess I look grossly out of place…Beyond just being a mess. It's normal to be curious about it."

"Not so grossly out of place. A bit tall, that's for sure and such tiny feet! But other than that you could pass for normal if you wore a proper dress with frills and the like," assured Bilbo, shaking his head.

She smiled.

"I've never been described as tall by anyone," she giggled, honest to God giggled because it was so surreal to be called tall in any sense.

The hobbit laughed with her, before running off to the oven when she heard a faint ding. She marveled as she leaned back to see his kitchen- he had a cast iron stove and toilets. _Maybe Middle-Earth wasn't so bad after all._ Bilbo, true to what he had described, came in with a relative feast, running off to the kitchen for a good solid seven minutes, refusing her help as he laid it out. He seemed rather happy at her oos and ahs at the smells and look of everything- It was the closest she had ever seen in this place to food and when she saw the quail, she had faint memories of thanksgiving and her stomach  _growled_  so loudly that it made Bilbo jump and made Bea want to sink into the floor.

Then, of course, he had to be happy about it, flushing like a little boy and claiming it was  _one of the highest compliments_ in Hobbit culture to be so hungry before a meal to have your stomach growl so loudly.

"Hobbits are big eaters in general, Miss Bea, always hungry really. Because of it we pride ourselves on being excellent cooks. Most excellent cooks," he said sagely, bringing out a bottle of what looked like wine, popping the cork out with a sharp twist of the wrist, "If you can't cook you aren't worth a jolt in my society. Food is incredibly important. To compliment it is the highest praise."

She simply took in the cultural differences as it were and allowed Bilbo to hum and beam as he set the last bit of the meal to the table. There was a reason Bea's stomach had pronounced her hunger- it just looked so good… And normal. Not thick bubbly stew over a fire that made Bea's stomach roll with how unused she was to that particular brand of cooking… But Bilbo's food… Oh, _Bilbo's food_. Bea could write sonnets about Bilbo's cooking. She ate at least two servings of everything much to the delight of Bilbo- who partially picked everything clean. Anything she didn't finish Bilbo put away easily.

"You did not answer my question, ultimately," he said, absently, pouring himself a generous amount of wine.

Bea smiled and politely turned down the offer of wine and drank some juice of what appeared to be some sort of fruit.

"I collect places you see- Maps and books-"

"And you've assumed by my appearance that where I come from is far away and wonderful."

Bilbo flushed, but nodded, looking hopeful and so eager. She smiled, thought for a second, before raising a hand and turning to her backpack. She fished out her planner, flipped to the very back before she handed it over to Bilbo. Curious, he took it from her hands and then squeaked in delight as he looked at the map of the United States that was hidden away in the back of her planner.

"Oh Oh," he cried, bouncing up and down, "I have never before seen such a land mass- Oh and such vivid colors!"

She smiled.

"Which is your land, there are so many!?"

"The United States of America, which is all the colored states that aren't gray," she said softly, she scooted her chair closer to his, and pointed out California, "I was born here and my family lives there, but I'm going to school here."

She pointed out at Connecticut.

"You've traveled so far! Your country is enormous, almost as big as Middle Earth itself!"

_You have no idea, Bilbo._

Carefully, she tugged the planner away from Bilbo, who seemed almost pouting. She figured a quick peek wouldn't be so bad and Bilbo was being very generous in letting her have lunch with him.

"I could not understand a single thing on your map, what language is that?"

Bea blinked.

"What we're speaking now? Er, well, English at least. Gandalf did mention that you called it Western-"

"Yes, yes. English you say? How odd, one moment please," he got up large feet surprisingly silent as he rushed away, coming back with a rolled up piece of paper.

He extended it, showing her odd little markings that… Were clearly not English. She remembers them faintly from Gandalf's own map. She frowned.

"Huh. I'm lucky it sounds like English at least. Otherwise, I would have been in so much trouble, even when Gandalf found me..."

Bilbo rolled up the map with an expert movement. He frowned, placing it on his shoulder. His brows furrowed.

"Found you?"

Bea bit her lip, debated for a second then sighed.

"Yes, he found me. I was being chased by a Warg. I was… Just here, near the Blue Mountains, I think he called it? I have no idea how I ended up here… I just have. He mentioned something about it being the will of the Valar-"

Bilbo gasped, moved to speak before they heard a knock on the door. Curious, and wondering, they looked at each other before he went to the door. Shaking his head slightly as he went to it. Bea took the opportunity to take another bite of her food.

"Gandalf! Do come in-"

"I've see you've made Lady Beatrice as comfortable as you could, Bilbo Baggins," said Gandalf, hat off with a raised brow as he walked into the living room.

Bilbo flushed, shrugging slightly as he looked at her. Gandalf hummed.

"My dear, I'm afraid we have over stayed our welcome. We shall head to Bree-"

Bea slumped, sighing slightly.

"Already?"

"I'm afraid so my dear. I've inquired after a room in the Green Dragon, but I am afraid it is soon time for the Spring Festival and many Hobbits from the outskirts have come by to celebrate it in Hobbiton proper, we cannot linger long," he said softly.

She bit her lip but nodded. She smiled to Bilbo at Gandalf looking at her pointedly.

"Thank you for the tea and lunch, Mr. Bilbo, it was lovely," she said sincerely, before she carefully put away her planner, setting her backpack on her back and standing up.

"Oh, but you must stay for desert," said Bilbo, hurriedly.

"I'm afraid not, Bilbo Baggins. We have imposed on you already," said Gandalf, coming over to place a hand on her shoulder, "Come along Lady Beatrice-"

"Wait!" he cried, as Gandalf made her grabbed her shoes and cloak without putting them on, trying to hurry her out the door.

Bea felt a bit flustered at the way Gandalf was pushing her away from Bag End. They paused and turned back to Bilbo, who was blinking rapidly, face flushed.

"I-I-"

"We must be off to Rivendell-"

Bilbo face brightened up, eyes wide.

"Rivendell?"

"Yes, yes, I am great friends with Lord Elrond-"

Bea wondered faintly if he was as good as friend as he was supposed to be with Bilbo…

"Stay!" screeched out Bilbo, suddenly.

Gandalf smiled. Bea blinked.

_Oh, you sneaky son of a bitch. Ten points to Slytherin._

"Why Bilbo, we be delighted!" he cried happily, turning Bea around and pushing her back towards the kitchen, "Go enjoy your dessert, my dear, while I settle our horse and supplies."

With a jaunty wave, Gandalf was out the door in five seconds flat. Bilbo blinked.

"Oh dear," he said, after a second, sounding perplexed.

Bea couldn't help but snort.

"Mr. Bilbo," he turned to her brows furrowed, as she spoke as sympathetically as she could, "We just got played."

"Oh by the love of Yavanna he was good," said Bilbo, sounding almost impressed.

"I wasn't even in on it," she supplied, laughing.

Bilbo laughed.

"Oh, dear. Come on. Let's finish our dessert and try not to think of multiplying Wizards until Afternoon Tea."


	5. The Shire

**The Shire**

_(Despite everything, Bea finds herself quite liking it)_

_Third Age: Year 2931, Fourth of May*_

" _I hate that color on you," Megan Hernandez complains, absently brushing out her long brown hair with quick measured strokes. She is pretty and rosy pale, with sweet, half-lidded green eyes that always look half asleep._

_Bea frowns at her roommate, tapping her foot as she lowers the dark green dress. She stood in her underwear and high heels, make-up and her hair curled so that it only fell to her thin shoulders prettily. It had been a bitch and a half to get her super fine and thin hair to hold the ringlet shape._

" _What's wrong with green?" she asked because it was a very nice dress and it had cost her an arm and a leg._

_Megan sighs, pursing her perfectly made lips, a deep burgundy that goes well with her complexion. She marches over to her closet, stomping her bare feet, her long red dress swishes prettily along her long legs. Not for the first time, Bea finds herself envious at how tall her friend is, as she could easily reach the highest shelves as she tosses dress after dress aside. She wracks through Bea's pitiful small hole that counted as her closet(overflowing and stuffed because despite her smallish wardrobe the closet was too damn tiny), muttering to herself before she cries in triumph. She turns, dramatically hiding what she has chosen before she brings it around with a flair._

" _Blue. Blue is your color. Como el mar*!" Megan's dark eyes are firm and she sing songs when she falls back into her first language._

_Bea squints at the dress, flowing around to her knees in a wide flowing skirt, snitched tightly at the waist, bust and it would leave her shoulders bare as it was strapless, before she shrugs and reaches for it. She has long learned that Megan was the more fashionista of the two. It wasn't that Bea didn't like dressing nice, in fact, most days found her in a dress of some sort(with the exception of the days she had practice or a competition coming up), but Megan just got colors and always knew what looked best on a person. If it hadn't been for her obvious devotion to Forensics, Bea would have pegged her for a personal shopper or a fashion major._

" _Okay, okay, blue is my color. You should put your hair up by the way. Leah likes to stare at your neck," she says seriously, stepping into the dress, "And you know you hate it when you have a sweaty neck after dancing."_

" _You really do, babe," and it's Leah White who comes in, dressed in a little white dress that contrasted well to her tan complexion. She is taller then Bea, but shorter than Megan's 5' 11'' frame, with large brown eyes and flowing black hair._

" _Fine, Bea, a little help?" she asks, turning her back on her girlfriend as she flops onto Bea's bed._

_Bea is already moving, reaching for Megan's lush brown hair. While Leah had the steadiest hand at makeup, and Megan was the better fashionista, Bea hands down had the best hand at tugging and pulling hair into submission._

" _Braid crown?" she asks, humming as she starts brush through it._

" _Please and thanks, hon'," drawls Megan in her Texas lit, drawing out the sounds and dropping some all together in an exaggerated way._

_Bea just does as she asks, letting Leah come behind her and zip up her dress._

" _Where are we going anyway?"_

" _Oh, some new place, Bea. Called the Garden," Leah says simply, "I heard a certain Captin likes to the music there."_

_Bea feels her face heat up and scowls as she twists Megan's hair easily. She tugs on it a little sharper than necessary._

" _You told her?!" she accuses to her roommate._

_Megan giggles, soft and teasing._

" _I never not tell Leah anything!" she says, slyly._

_Bea snorts and gives her hair another sharp tug. Megan takes it with a slight whine._

" _That's a double negative, you ass. I can't believe you told her about my crush on Will!" she retorts, a little putout out. She really should have expected it, but it still was a bit embarassing to have Leah know anything about her crush on Will Travers._

_Her crush on Will was not earth staggering in any sense- but natural to her. Very high school cliche with her stomach fluttering with butterflies and everything. He was her senior and Captain on the Fencing team, smart and had the best little dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. He seemed to be the most logical person to have a crush on and it didn't help that he had started calling her 'Golden Dragon' after he had first been her opponent in a friendly match, a linguist major and lover of the origin of words and names._

_She was more embarrassed by the fact that it was so cliche to like the star captain of the fencing team._

" _I think he likes ya back," says Megan, as she pins the last of her hair in place._

_Bea frowns._

" _Whatever. No boy talk or grinding on your girlfriend. This is girl's night out!" she retorts._

_Leah snorts._

" _I can promise the first but not the last, Bea, especially if they play our song."_

_Bea rolls her eyes._

" _Let's get our groove on, ladies."_

" _Ugh, it hurts," whined Megan, clutching at her chest, "How can you be so lame to say groove?"_

_Bea laughs. They go dancing- They don't see Will and Bea is really glad of it. This was dancing night, after all, something they did every other week to unwind. They were all very serious students, (with the exception of Leah who had had already graduated and ran a small boutique near campus) and needed to do something other than study. They never had it during midterms or finals, but this night was to let loose. Not to think about guys or how nice some girl's ass looked._

_Shake and shimmy her frustrations away._

" _I LOVE THIS SONG!" And that's slightly tipsy Leah, leaning against her back and laughing. Megan, who had been sipping at her girlfriend's martini is grinning, half-lidded eyes relaxed as she comes in and removes her girlfriend off of Bea._

_Bea is only laughing because tipsy Leah is hilarious. They move together in the pack of bodies and when anyone get's handsy its Bea's time to smack down because both Leah and Megan are not very physical nor confrontational despite taking self-defense classes and she thinks that they find it **fucking** hilarious that most handsy people do not expect a girl less than five feet and weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet to flip and punch their lights out. To be honest so does Bea but she would never tell them that because she is not a dancing monkey._

_They dance, dropping and shaking hips, hands in the air and its awesome movement of their bodies and the music. It's not homework or study or practice-_

When Bea wakes up, for a second, she thought that it was all a dream. Not dancing or being with her two best friends- but the impossibility of running into another world in a fraction of her second as she ran for her life. She was in a bed(did Megan carry her into her room?), warm, and for the first time in a long while, blissfully clean, fed and wearing something different in what felt like years. It isn't until her eyes adjust to the darkness that she realizes she is in a guest bedroom in Bag End. Not in her room after a relaxing night of clubbing with her friends. She can tell, as she looks at the warm wooden beams, the carefully carved flowers that she is not home in her shitty apartment that she shared with Megan (and Leah half the time she was seriously waiting for the couple to approach her about Leah moving in or all of them moving somewhere with a little bit more breathing room as soon as their one year lease was up). It is not the first time she's dreamed of home- nor of the people she loved. It isn't the first time she has woken up in a haze and thought that Gandalf, Middle-Earth's beauty is all a dream.

But it doesn't mean it hurts any less or the panic at the fact that she has stumbled into another World has lessened.

She can just make out in the early morning light, the details of the carvings that run along the walls, roof of Bag End. Simple, but abundant, and she marvels at the fact that though Bilbo's father, Bungo had paid for most of the construction of the 'Smial', he had done the majority of the wood carving himself. She can't tell what the individual flowers are- she never really paid much attention to flowers, other to note their beauty or their significance in a particular line of a poetry or story. The carvings are beautifully stylized and layered petals and she wonders at the attention to detail that Bungo had gone to making his Smial for his wife.

She is blinking rapidly at the lump in her throat, at the sting of tears coming to her eyes.  _Don't you start a fucking pity party right now, Bea, you're better than that._  She sighs, and curls into the plush pillows, squeezing her eyes shut.  _Crying won't solve a damn thing right now Bea, get your shit together._ For a second, she had been immensely hopeful, but it was dashed when she saw she wasn't in her shoebox of an apartment. She wasn't home. It wasn't a crazy dream(Megan and tipsy Leah were). Her body hurts from its constant new use of walking and riding across Middle Earth, but it is more relaxed then it has been in months, after that bath she had had last night.

She swings herself up with some difficulty, her legs and particularly her feet and thighs feeling close to something of a mixture of pure jelly and aching, throbbing pain. For a second, all she can do is watch how her body is trembling and aching. She takes a deep breath, through her nose and exhales out of her mouth.  _In and out. In and out._  Every part of her body creaks. It's a series of pops and little smacking sounds as she shifts about, stretching her legs and arms experimentally. Bea bites back a groan. After a moment, she is standing on shaky legs. She almost falls back, but she forces herself to stay up. She could laze around today and stay in bed- but Bag End is just a pitstop. Her life until Rivendell would be the brutal pace Gandalf had set.  _Which she doesn't protest because the faster they got to Rivendell the faster she gets home._

She sighs shifts from aching foot to aching foot. Bea absently tugs at the shift Bilbo had let her borrow last night. It was one of his late mother's sleeping gown, which should've been to the bottom of her blistered feet but instead was a bit closer falling just below her knees. She shivered in it, as it was thin cottony material. She pulled it over her head, straightening the form-fitting underpants that reached all the way to her knees that Bilbo, with a blush and a stutter, had provided as well. She had been so grateful and had been this close to flinging herself at the hobbit when he had given her a second dress in the morning. It also belonged to Bilbo's mother and she had received it from her friends in Rivendell, and hence, according to him, would probably fit her best. The very fine dress came in two parts; a thin, nearly sheer under-dress that was loose and only structured in boobage area and a velvet overlay that was even more structured, with lovely and simple beadwork and embroidery of small, violet colored little flowers. She slipped the first over her head, and then the second, tightened it quickly in the back, making the sagging material of Bilbo's well-endowed mother's dress more or less conform to her shape. She struggled with the laces, as they were in the back, but managed with a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch and vicious tugs to make the dress taunt on her body.

The dress was longer than the sleeping gown, which is why she thinks Bilbo had given her to wear in the morning, despite the fact that it was obviously very expensive. Well, long on a hobbit, it was a little bit short on Bea, coming up to the soles of her feet instead of trailing behind her as Bilbo had described, as well as a little big in the chest and hips area, as apparently, hobbits were curvy as a standard and Bea was so decidedly not. The sleeves were a little long as well, frightfully long enough to nearly trail to the floor, even with her taller height. It was a nice dress, she thinks, frightfully comfortable too; a pale sky blue, with a simple, sweetheart neckline and slight A-line skirt at where the hips should be, but considering her height it was a little bit higher.

Bea caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over a small vanity after she straightened out the bed sheets and folded the nightgown neatly to rest on top of them.

She looked cleaner, which she suspects has something to do with the fact that she had spent over two hours just cleaning herself up in Bilbo's tub last night until the hot water had grown cold and been filled with dust. She had even managed to shave, using an actual razor blade that Bilbo kept in the restroom(most likely for his mop of curls on his head, she thinks, as it had been neatly trimmed on the edges). She felt a little guilty about it, but her legs and pits felt so damn smooth and nice that she found it was worth the guilt. She had nicked herself a couple times and counted herself lucky to not have chopped a hunk of skin off, but she figured she'd just get better with practice. Her hair looked nice too, as Bilbo actual had a separate, much gentler soap for it. Overall, if she ignored the dress, she would think she looked almost normal aside from her thinner face and body. It just looked like Bea had gone through an extensive workout.

"I look like a princess at a Renaissance Fair," she muttered, as she carefully combed her thin, fine hair. Feeling vaguely off because of the dream, she quickly braided and pinned her hair in a braid crown and patted absently at her slightly too long bangs, hoping it wasn't too weird looking and debated for few seconds before she decided against makeup.

She had at least redone her pedicure and manicure last night gleefully painting it the dark blue color she had happen to have in her bag, so that also made her feel a bit better. More  _human_. She was clean, had shaved, wasn't sleeping on the ground for at least seven days, had excellent food for the same amount of time, so she felt like a million bucks. She walked out of the guest room, humming and came across Gandalf and Bilbo in the front garden, smoking of course after she caught sight of the round door slightly cracked open. She wrinkled her nose but smiled as they looked to her.

"Good morning," she said, smirking slightly at Gandalf's face. He looked more than a little affronted at the repeated greeting.

Bilbo, on the other hand, snickered with her.

"Good Morning to you, Miss Bea. May I say that you look lovely?" he said happily.

Absently she smoothed down invisible wrinkles in the dress.

"Less like something you would find on the bottom of your shoe, you mean," she said easily, "Thank you so much for lending me the dress."

"A bit more cleaned up, is all! And think nothing of it, that blue is most becoming. I'm glad it fits you well."

"You flatter me, Mr. Bilbo. I'm just glad I'm so short and that your mother was so tall."

"Yes, yes, you do look less of a mess, Beatrice," said Gandalf, inhaling deeply at his pipe, before he stood, "Are you here to practice your Tai-Chi?"

She smiled, wiggling her bare feet.

"Got it in one, Gandalf, want to join me?"

"I beg your pardon, what is Tai-Chi?"

Bea blinked at Bilbo's curious face moved to answer when Gandalf beat her to it:

"Oh, it is a practice of Lady's Beatrice's homeland. It is a most fascinating exercise of stretches and stances- It is supposed to ensure a longer life," he said, fondly.

Bilbo bit his lip, looking at Bea with eagerness. Vaguely, she realized that different cultures, not just maps and the like, interested the small man. She smiled. She was always eager to share with any for of fellow scholar. She reached out a hand, trying not to snatch his in her eagerness.

"Your welcome to join us, it isn't terribly difficult."

"Oh, may I?" said Bilbo, beaming, and he took her offered hand easily, standing with his overly long pipe in his hand.

"I insist. You are letting us stay in your home."

She positioned herself in front of both of them once they had settled to the side lawn, much more spacious, letting her legs stand a little bit apart and breathing deeply through her nose for a second before she went through her regular morning routine. Gandalf, in the couple months of travel, had more or less memorized her hour warm up, mimicking her movements easily and with a lot of grace for a man that looked geriatric. Bilbo was quick on his enormous feet but slightly choppy in his movements. He did, however, follow her gentle corrections without hesitation and looked mighty pleased with himself once she had called out that they had finished. A little sweaty and pink, but pleased with himself.

"Oh, dear, we're almost terribly late for Breakfast," said Bilbo, tsking as he looked at a pocket watch.

_Watches! Another oddly modern thing. Windup I bet, but still a watch!_

"May I help you in the kitchen this time, Bilbo?" she asked as they went inside. She made sure to wipe the dew and the bits of grass that had stuck to her bare feet from the lawn, as well as pick off any that had trailed on her sleeves and the hem of the skirt.

"It's highly improper, Miss Bea," he said simply.

She nodded and smiled.

"In my culture, it's a show of respect and friendship for the guest to help. But if you feel uncomfortable, then I won't force it."

Bilbo nodded his head, looking relieved.

"Thank you, Miss Bea, for the consideration," with that the hobbit went off, towards the kitchen, while Bea went back to her room, grabbed her backpack.

She was rifling through her backpack and grabbing her literature notebook and Powerpuff Girl pencil case once she sat at the dining table. She spread them across the table, humming absently as she flipped to her a small section she had marked off as 'Hobbit Do's & Don'ts,' before she wrote down a quick little list of observations, color coding as she went.

"Your English looks mighty clumsy," said Gandalf, peaking across the table.

Bea looked up from the notebook, raising a brow.

"Oh?"

"Yes, such simplistic little lines," he said, shaking his head.

She leaned into her arm, raising one of her eyebrows with a slight purse of her lips. Her handwriting was fairly nice, in her opinion, she even had decent cursive. She thought it was especially cool that she had this skill despite the fact that she mostly typed everything. She rummaged absently through her notebook, flipping to a section labeled 'Middle-Earth Languages', the only note that she had written was that though phonetic Western or the 'Common tongue' was English, it was apparently different when written and with a few odd phrases or sentence structure. She slid it across to Gandalf with a huff.

"Would you be so kind as to show me how graceful Western is in comparison?"

Taking her pink gel pen with a curious look, he wrote out what she assumed was the alphabet, before surprising her further and writing down several more sets. He did it all with a delicate, but a swift motion of his hand. The result did look beautiful, but Bea could make no sense of it. They were swirled, for the most part, yet at the same time, there was an abundance of strange accent marks in some. They all looked vaguely related, but somehow very different all the same. She hummed, frowning at them, her brow creased.

"Okay, what are those?"

"These are as many written languages as I can remember. Sorted by race, Elvish, Man and I'm afraid the Dwarves are rather sensitive to their privacy, I would find it disrespectful to share what I know without express permission. The ones that you are mostly to encounter: Western," he said carefully pointing out the set in the Men's section, which Bea immediately made a little star by with a separate purple pen, "and Sindarin of which there are three dialects."

Bea hummed, head spinning slightly. She wasn't a linguist, as much as she wished she was( _she longed to read and be able to understand the stories she loved in the languages of their origin, to understand every nuance that was lost with translations_ ). That was her father's territory, she swore that her father knew more than a dozen mostly dead but still a dozen nonetheless. She knew English of course(and apparently spoken Western or Common tongue), had a passing ability to read, write and speak Chinese because of her mother, could ask to go to the bathroom in a badly accented Welsh but that was by chance and because her mother had insisted that she know something about her and her father's homelands.

Bea didn't have the knack for languages. Stories? Folklore, myths, legends, and fairytales? That she could handle. They were her bread and butter, even with the cultural barriers she had to overcome when it came to understanding and analyzing any given story.

But languages were a whole new kettle of fish.

All the languages looked somewhat similar but she had no idea if they were phonetic like English, or pictorial like Chinese. Did the Elves or the 'race' of Men all speak the same languages with different dialects, adopted a different writing system, or where all of the several sets (and there were several sets) of different languages with their own rules?

She frowned.

_God, I would kill for even Google translate right now._

"There's so many…"

"I admit it must be overwhelming. I believe you would do well to at least learn written Western and some spoken Sindarin. The latter of which is what is mostly used in Lord Elrond's home," said Gandalf, wisely, sipping his tea.

She gestured with a slightly raised brow and he pointed out 'Sindarin' again and she sighed as she looked at it.

"Will you be giving me lessons in Sindarin?" she asked, carefully, hopefully.

Gandalf shrugged.

"At least spoken. Most of Rivendell do speak Western, but it never fails to be polite."

She nodded, humming slightly.

"Got it, thanks, Gandalf."

They had a pleasant breakfast, mostly with Bilbo peppering her with a few odd questions of her 'land'. She made it a point of not to mention anything that would be too outrageous, and Gandalf gave her a discreet nod when she noticed she just mentioned that her home was 'West' and further than that she honestly had no idea, which is why she was headed towards Rivendell with Gandalf. She didn't lie to Bilbo, she just didn't elaborate and didn't outright state that she was not from this world. Only that she was from very far away and had been magically transported to this continent, with no idea how it had happened. He seemed to take that in stride and was just content on learning what little information she could give without many questions, as well as answering her own questions in return. Politeness seemed to be a rule, and while she was a bit miffed at his odd formality at times, she liked him for it.

It was a little bit after lunch that Bilbo declared that he was going to the market to restock his pantry and because it was 'market day'. Bea, eagerly asked if she could come along, both curious and more or less up to help Bilbo carry things if she could(she was really not used to mooching off of people and she wanted to help her host somehow). She was dead tired, but after months on the road, she found that she could not sit _still_.

Plus, she was insanely curious.

She was somewhat flustered when Gandalf gave her a small sack of money(cue her gasping like an idiot at the pile of gold, silver, and bronze looking coins when she had opened it curiously). It was heavy  _meaning that it was real metal and holy shit she was holding solid gold coins_ , made her blink and she went to refuse, she realized that she had no money of her own.

It wasn't as if The Shire accepted Mastercard.

"I-"

"See if you can find some supplies for yourself, Lady Beatrice, I have an extra bedroll for yourself, but I do not know what else you would require," said Gandalf pointedly leaving no room for argument, which made Bea sigh, thank him and try to ignore how much she was blushing.

Because he was being practical and she swore internally that she would pay him back, somehow. She laced on her newly clean boots with newly washed socks that had thankfully dried overnight. Much to Bilbo's curiosity, she supposed, because he was staring at her pink laces that had faded with grime and dust from the road, leaving a slightly sickly peach color no matter how hard she had scrubbed. She herself, gave a slight look at his thick and calloused soles of his feet. When he offered his arm, she grinned, because she was a foot and then some taller than Bilbo, but took his arm anyway. It was a bit awkward due to the height difference, but they made it work, even working around Bilbo's large sun hat(he gave her one as well, scolding her for her fair skin and how she would burn to a crisp if she did not care for herself).She placed the small coin sack in one of the side pockets of her large yellow backpack.

They made an odd pair, no doubt as they made their way to the market, many hobbits, out and about were staring, even more so as Bilbo tried his best to ignore them after he had greeted them. She felt a little self-conscious, more than usual. At home she was a curiosity for her coloring, but here- It felt like it was  _more_. Bea could never say she had never been the subject of racism or stereotyping and had struggled because of it, but it somehow different as each hobbit took her in. That had been because she had not met the stereotype… Here, she didn't meet any sort of stereotype and somehow, it was worse. She wondered, faintly, if it would still be the same if she was another race- before she decided that no, it didn't matter. They did not have anything as a base to compare her too, regardless of race and she took a small comfort in that. Gandalf had said that hobbits and 'Men' were related distinctly. She kinda doubted it. She was too tall, too pale, her face seemed to be 'untrustworthy' as the man had said a few days ago… She was just…  _Other._ She frowned, slightly shaking her head away from those pessimistic thoughts.

"I think they find me odd," she said, laughing slightly as she made the obvious statement. If she couldn't laugh at it, she knew she would lose her temper and start taking it out on anyone who looked at her funny. Well, not really, but the thought gave her a slight comfort.

"Yes, well, it is rare to see any of the Race of Man in the Shire… Any race other then hobbits really," said Bilbo, kindly, as if to reassure her, "It is not because of anything specific to you, Miss Bea."

"So the Shire is isolationist or do many people of… Other races just not come here?"

He shrugged, coloring slightly in the face.

"Yes, a bit of both, I would say."

"I must really weird you out then," she said, curious at his reaction.

He looked at her blankly.

"Pardon?"

"Sorry. It's slang," she said with a slight sigh, "I meant to say that I must be very strange to you."

He blinked, frowning as he hitched his large basket higher on his arm.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Gandalf is much odder. And much less polite," he said, thoughtfully, "But at least he has a decent taste in pipeweed."

She laughed.

They walked in more or less comfortable silence, the rest of the way to the market, which was pretty far away, but not as much as she would have guessed. The best she could say, as she came to Market of Hobbiton was that it looked like a farmer's market. There were a couple buildings, what looked like a Tailor's, a bakery, a butcher's and a store full of pots, farming tools, a silversmith's shop and the like, but the rest were a series of stalls, filled to the brim with vegetables and fruits and the odd stall of fresh fish. Smells, shouts, and chatter filled the air.

Everyone wore smart little trousers and rough-hewed shirts with vests, or poofy skirts, layered and more often than not had an apron over it, reaching to just above the woman's ankles of their large thickly soled feet, much like the men and their trousers, with shirts that showed ample cleavage and had large round sleeves. Hats and honest to God bonnets, walking sticks and frills, and ribbons. Vaguely, she noted that all of their ears were pointed and she thought them to be little miniature Vulcans, but everyone looked too happy, bright and emotive faces as they went along, so she couldn't say that the comparison was fair. They were all brightly colored in yellows, greens and reds, more of the two former than the later, embroidered with lovely designs, circular, rough shapes and most prominently, flowers, both men, and women alike. Kids, hardly up to her waist, ran about like, well,  _kids_. They were terribly adorable, some of the size of baby dolls, but alive, running screaming and giggling.

For a second, Bea was overwhelmed and it was only because she was holding on to Bilbo and was a foot taller than everyone that they weren't separated. Bilbo was an expert, walked confidently and demand they sent this and that to Bag-End, not paying as he went about. Bea watched curiously, surprised at the amount of things she recognized lining the wares of those of Hobbiton Market. Strawberries, blueberries, blackberries. She blinked rapidly as she saw a tomato. A tomato!

 _Maybe some things are multi-universal,_ she mused as she eyed Bilbo, haggling over some fish, before he nodded to himself, paid, and unlike before, laid the fresh fish in his basket. He took several, so much so that she suspected that they would have fish for dinner that night.

"I noticed you didn't pay for some stalls," she mentioned, curious.

"Oh, those stalls are from my farmers part of their crops go to me to take off a percentage of their rent*," he mentioned, distractedly, taking out a piece of parchment full of what she thought was Western, tsking checked off something, with a piece of charcoal that he produced from his vest pocket.

Bea blinked. It took her a second to register what that meant.  _Landed gentry? And here I was thinking medieval maybe it's closer to Jane Austen?_

"Oh, Jesus you're loaded," she said, giggling slightly.

"Loaded?"

She snorts.

"You're very rich."

He flushed.

"I- Well, yes. Did you not realize?"

"I do now, it just took me by surprise. It should be obvious… Bag End is beautiful."

He shook his head.

"How very odd for someone not to know. And yet you treated me so nicely..."

"Well, I am staying in your house Mister Bilbo, because of the manipulation of a Wizard. I think being polite was the- Well, the  _decent_ thing to do."

He beamed at her.

"Quite kind, Miss Bea."

She laughed.

"Not as kind as you, Mister Bilbo!"

They shopped. Bea followed after Bilbo, curious, quiet and taking mental notes. Nothing seemed practical for her to purchase, as most of it was food that would spoil in a few days. She wondered, faintly if they had rice in this world as that was fairly good for long-term use, but didn't see any as she went about with her host. It was in the tailor that she started to actively shop, only to be severely disappointed. Nothing would fit- the only closest thing she could see that would be the same underwear that Bilbo had given her last night. The dresses and skirts were large, poofy and would be scandalously short in a way that while it wouldn't bother Bea, would no doubt send the wrong message across Middle Earth. And Bea didn't really relish the idea of someone thinking she was a prostitute in a medievalesque world. The pants weren't much better, even the longest ones would have only fit her to about her knee and a little over, but were absurdly large around the waist. She noticed that the most of the shirts were fine- she was silm were the hobbits seemed to be curvy as a rule, so she picked a few of those along with the underwear. Some clothes were better than nothing.

"Find everything you needed Miss?" said the Tailor, a plump(the default body type of the hobbits it seemed), smiling woman that looked very young to be mining a shop- almost about Bea's age.

Bea put down the underwear and shirts on the counter. She said it kindly- but Bea could see the slight furrow of her brow as she looked at what she had brought to purchase. Bea bit her lip, eyed Bilbo across the shop examining a smart little vest before she leaned forward with a smile.

"So, as I have a problem, Ma'am, I'm too tall for any skirts or dresses, not even the trousers would fit me and I've yet to see any sort of bra or any socks. And the only clothes I have to my name is a single pair of clothes that are not the best for travel."

The woman blinked.

"Oh, well, I can custom make you something Miss, if it urges you to have clothing-"

"I leave The Shire in six days, Ma'am," she interrupted, trying to be polite as she could, "And I know that there's a festival soon and I would hate to commission work and overwork you."

The woman blinked again. Blinked at least once more before she beamed.

"Oh no, Miss. I can finish the work in two days if you would allow me to take your measurements."

Bea beamed back-  _Clothes other than my stinking yoga pants and sweat-shirt. I'm in heaven._

"Even if I order um… Four pairs of pants, four pairs of socks, a cloak and two dresses?" she didn't exactly relish the dress part, what with all the riding she would being doing between here and Rivendell, but Bea was of the solid opinion that being prepared was the best.

" _Better to be over prepared than underprepared, BumbleBee," said her father, warm deep lit of his Welsh accent rolling over her, eyes narrowed. He is absently rubbing at his bearded face._

_Bea rolls her eyes, but dutifully preps her suitcase with her dad hovering over her shoulder._

"Yes, of course, I have quite quick hands, Miss and I do have two assistants. And you mentioned something of a…. Bra?" asked the hobbit, furrowing her brow.

Bea sighed.

"A brasserie?"

The woman looked at her politely, blankly and seemingly for an explanation.

"Something to support my breasts."

The hobbit flushed, giggling suddenly.

"Oh, is it common in your land… For such a thing to be worn? Instead of it being built into the clothing or a corset?" she asked, curiously.

Bea despite herself, blushed.

"Um, yes?"

The tailor nodded, curiously, before she started taking out what looked like a tape measure out of her apron pocket. She gestured behind the counter and Bea followed her to a small, discreet room as the tailor started to press the tape measure about her body.

"If you bring me the garment, I can perhaps fashion one similar to it," she said, calmly as she went around Bea, measuring the length of her legs, the width of her waist. She made no mention of her height, only hopping on a stool to make up for the nearly two feet of difference as the woman was so short.

"Thank you. You have no idea how difficult it has been to travel with no clothing," she confessed, relaxing in relief at the prospect of clothes, trying to be polite and not alarm her, she continued with what she hoped was the right etiquette, "I've been terribly rude. My name is Beatrice Eurwen-Lung, ma'am, I am staying at Bag End with Mister Bilbo Baggins due to his family's friendship with my guardian, Gandalf the Grey."

"My name is Rosa Baggins*, Miss. I was curious to why a young girl of Man was doing in my shop, especially with the quite respectable cousin of a shut-in of Bag-End. Gandalf the Wizard explains that quite well, my friend Hildigrim has mentioned his fireworks to be something of a legend."

"Most people call me Bea," she offered, moving politely along with each direction of the tailor, seamstress?

"I would be pleased if you called me Rosa, Miss Bea," she said smiling, writing down measurements in a small leather-bound book with a feathered quill, which, noticed Bea with some relief was the familiar Arabic-Hindu numerals.

_Thank God, I'm in enough trouble with the Common Tongue being written differently._

"How much will it cost me for all the work… Including two bras?"

"Well, for the bloomers, shirts, the commissioned socks, pants, the cloak and two dresses, I can confidently say that it will cost you two gold and twelve silver pieces. However, for this bra- I do not know, for I've never made one. Bring the garment tomorrow-"

"I have it with me."

"Well… May I see your other garments as well?" she asked, and at Bea's look, Rosa Baggins grinned, "I am curious and your dress is of Elvish make that I remember that my aunt Belladonna wore a few years past. Considering your exotic features I can make a good guess that you are from a different land, Miss, one of which I have never seen its clothing."

Bea smiled.  _A fashionista to the core._

She brought out her newly washed clothes that had dried overnight, carefully laying out on a table full of sewing supplies, a little shy about the rose printed- cotton underwear and matching sports bra, but in for a penny, out for a pound. Rosa looked at the clothing with interest, humming and picking up her sweatshirt with infinite interest. She pressed her fingertips to the large faded letters, examining the fabric and the hoodie with interest.

"What a vivid color! And the stitch work! So uniform and neat! This must have been so expensive, Miss," she exclaimed, twisting the garment back and forth.

Bea was amused at her reaction, wondering if blue was an expensive dye. She had mostly seen yellows and greens in the shop, with a few spots of red. Vaguely she recalled that blue was an expensive color once upon a time in her world, along with red and purple… Then again, her dress was sky blue. But it had been a gift from a 'Lord'...

"And this garment, what is it?" asked Rosa, eagerly, curious at the underwear, "Such beautiful detail in the dying! How was it achieved?"

"That Miss Rosa is my underwear. And I believe you have to print the color into the fabric."

Bea was sure from the heat she felt from her face, she was resembling a tomato. The hobbit, blinked, looked back at the printed cotton and tilted her head.

"How curiously small! Would you prefer I make you a few sets of these instead of bloomers, Miss Bea?"

Thinking of the awkwardly long underwear underneath the dress, Bea couldn't help but nod eagerly. Rosa nodded before she moved to her sports bra. She hummed.

"It is padded and constructed for support," she said, sounding curious, "Not too terribly difficult to make, I'd say. But it'd be best for you to leave this along with your underwear so I may mimic the pattern."

"How much would it be total?" she had counted her small stack of money before she had walked out of Bag End and had a total of forty gold pieces about the size of quarters, about hundred silver pieces the size of nickels and forty copper pieces with the size dimes. From what Bilbo had said, about twenty pieces of silver went into a gold piece and forty copper pieces went into a silver piece*.

She had no idea what it was worth, money wise, but she knew if she would fall into Earth that very second that the amount of gold and silver could pay for at least a few textbooks. The thought that she was carrying a small fortune of actual coins held to the gold standard weirded Bea out.

"I will remove the bloomers from your price, then, and for these pieces… I can confidently say that it will be three gold and four silver pieces."

Bea blinked, it was much less than what she had expected.

"Okay, that's wonderful."

Rosa finished off her measurements, and Bea put her yoga pants and sweatshirt back into her backpack. Once she was in the shop proper, Rosa wrapped up her purchases of six shirts and two of the bloomers(Bea had no idea how long she would be in Middle Earth, but the material she had picked up was thick and lined with thick fleece for cold nights, she wasn't exactly eager to be here past the summer, but with the size of this continent she couldn't deny that she would spend nearly a year in this world just to take into account for travel time) before she accepted the aforementioned money, nodding sagely as Bea slowly counted out the money. She waved them from the shop, beaming.

"She's an odd one, that my cousin Miss Rosa Baggins. So young and running the shop, barely out of her tweens, many are scandalized by her determination of being independent," said Bilbo as they walked out, "Many believe she doesn't want to marry at all! Though she seems to be fond of my cousin, Hildigrim Took, they were friends since they were fauntlings... But she's a wonderful seamstress and many just can't get enough of her fine work to make too much of a fuss."

"Mister Bilbo, are you gossiping?" she asked, completely delighted by his hushed tone.

His blush was her answer and she laughed as they went on their way. They stopped by a few more shops, and though most people greeted Bilbo, no one was as warm as Rosa. No one was straight up nasty to Bea, which she thinks has to do with hobbits being generally polite, but… Bea couldn't deny that she put most everyone they met in a sort of frightened wariness. They stared, smiled strained smiles at the sight of her, looked at Bilbo with tsking mouths and shaking heads. She wondered as she browsed if Bilbo would become the source of gossip.

The shopping trip took a bit over three hours and Bea was overly pleased with what she had purchased: beyond the order for clothes, she had bought her own razor blade(along with a sharpening stone that the curious and confused clerk had said was necessary for the upkeep), two pounds of rice, some cured meat that was similar to jerky, several bars of soap for herself and her clothes, jars of salt and pepper and honey, a handsome leather journal to replace her composition notebook(she felt kind of weird to be writing notes on the world around her along with notes of Dante's movements through hell, purgatory, and Heaven), three packets of what Bilbo had called 'paste for the teeth' that seemed to be a form of crude toothpaste, a container of a lovely smelling tea that Bilbo swore by and a small little tin kettle and matching cup that was for making said tea.

All purchases more or less fit in her voluminous backpack, and the rest she would ask Gandalf to kindly put in Sonata's saddlebags when it was time for them to leave. She feels better. More steadily on her feet now that she has actively done something for herself other than put one foot in front of another as well sitting her thin ass on top of Sonata.

**OOOOOOOO**

"You seemed out of sorts at dinner, Miss Bea," said Bilbo carefully, as he came out into the garden, pulling his robe, tightly. The air was slightly chilly, even at the start of the summer.

The girl in question was curled, leaning against the grass that covered his smial, in just a shift and her overly long cloak, much to his embarrassment and her curious garment of origin over her shift to preserve her modesty for the most part(he did, however, note that her legs were much too long for her shift and he caught a glimpse of her bloomers which made the tips of his ears burn). She was blinking rapidly, sighing as she arranged her legs to fall beneath her instead of pressing against her chest. Underneath her cloak, he no longer had a glimpse of anything and Bilbo felt a sense of relief. As well as a quiet understanding that Miss Bea seemed to be constantly making sure not to be unintrusive as possible.

"Was I poor dinner guest? I'm sorry," she said, laughing, not even turning to him. The laughter was soft, but not exactly a happy sound.

Bilbo smiled, settling himself next to the curious, foreign girl, enough distance but not quite enough to be proper. Perhaps it was because he felt a kinship to the young daughter of Man, or maybe the addition of a wizard to his guest list had made him a tad adventurous. She didn't protest this nor when he stretched out next to her, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. She was frightfully pale, he thought, nearly glowed in the moonlight. If he wouldn't know better, he would think her sickly, all thin and delicately built as she was. She certainly did not have any rosiness to her cheeks nor curves to her form to show her health. But there was, however, a curious strength and grace to the way she moved, measured, with a firm gaze that never flinched.

Now, her gaze was looking upwards, to the stars, almond shaped eyes focused and clear even in the slight dark.

"You were not. But you seemed a million miles away," he said, and he sighed as her smile widened. It wasn't particularly a kind smile, but a tired one.

"I'm sorry. It was just sometimes it hits me. I've been away from home for so long… Two months or maybe more I'm not even sure at this points. My parents must be missing me… My friends… It was just a second… Just a single second and suddenly I was running straight into Gandalf."

Bilbo could not imagine it. He had lived all of his years in Bag-End since he was a fauntling and the thought of suddenly being ripped away from his home, his land, in an instant, terrified him. The fact that this young woman, who looked as if she was barely old enough to be out of her tweens, had experience that made him feel all sorts of pity. While two months was not large in the scheme of things, appearing in the middle of nowhere in a foreign place would have frightened him beyond belief. Briefly, he can see her pain at the separation- his parents had been dead for decades and yet he still missed them. He had some semblance of an idea of the pain of being away from them. At least the girl would see them again.

"You'll see them again," he said trying to offer comfort.

The girl nodded, determination strong in her gaze. But her shoulders slumped and her plump lower lip trembled.

"I apologize," he said, after a moment, "You must miss them very much."

The girl did not respond, just nodded. They sat in silence- easy, comforting silence in the steadily warming air.

"The stars are different," she said after a beat, voice so soft he nearly missed it.

Bilbo looked up. He had never had much of a need to look up, what with his star-maps being so precise and all. He wondered as he stared at the velvety darkness, how little he had even looked up.

"They are?"

"I can't see the Cygnus or Hercules constellations… Or even the Northern Star, Polaris*..."

Bilbo felt himself smile, slightly. All those names meant nothing to him and if she wasn't quite so sorrowful he would have asked for their meanings and their stories. Instead, he leaned forward, anticipation. He had caught on rather early on that the girl was a natural and curious scholar.

"We have constellations… Would you like to learn them?"

The girl finally looked over, blinking rapidly.

"I would like that very much, Mister Bilbo," she said softly, eyes shining. She did not cry, but the emotion in her voice was enough for Bilbo to know that the gesture was met with more than approval.

She was also smiling, largely, showing off strong, white teeth. Bilbo found himself beaming in answer.

"Let me get my star maps, wouldn't want to make any mistakes, Miss Bea, wait just there."

He got up and dashed into the house. He came back out with a tray of late night snack of cakes and warm cider, star map between them as he pointed out the constellations and the stories behind them.

All the while, Beatrice listened with quiet curiosity and gratitude.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I do not own The Lord of the Rings nor the Hobbit in any sense. It's universe, characters all belong to its amazing and groundbreaking creator, J. R. Tolkien, its publishing and broadcasting companies.
> 
> This is me, playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles.
> 
> Um, so, as some may notice, I changed the name of the fic. Why? Because the last title, Beatrice and the Unexpected Journey felt a little basic. Shades of Blue is a lot better. I apologize for any confusion.
> 
> *I have completely forgotten to mention when this was. Bad author. Anyway, for those awesome future fangirls, you will notice that is ten years before the quest for Erebor... I did say that this was a bit of a long haul. Yay? By the way that chapter list I posted before? Totally subjective to change.
> 
> *Blue like the sea.
> 
> *.... Well, Bungo has to get his money from somewhere. I just always thought he was a landowner.
> 
> *Great Grandmother of Merry and Pippin C:
> 
> *Erm... I don't see any formal money system. Just mention of gold in the Lord of the Rings, so I'm just keeping it that for simplicity reasons.
> 
> *I know the Lord of the Rings/the Hobbit is meant to be in our world but... Nah. It just makes sense for it to be a different world altogether. SO no North star or constellations.


	6. An Unexpected Companion: Tookish Tendencies Coming About In The Middle-Life of Bilbo Baggins

**An Unexpected Companion: Tookish Tendencies Coming About In The Middle-Life of Bilbo Baggin** s

( _Or Bea is no longer Subjected to Gandalf's Horrendous Cooking)_

 _Third Age:_ Year _2931, Tenth of May_

When the morning of his guests' departure came, Bilbo Baggins is more than a little sad to see them go.

_And half tempted to chase after them._

He is a hermit- well respected- but a hermit nonetheless. He has long accepted that not many, or any, of his relations or acquaintances, have ever truly befriended him. A bit too rich, as it were, a bit too respected to approach, a bit too much of a curiosity for being a middle-aged bachelor with a tragic past- most hobbits couldn't abide such dramatic things. Part of him suspects as well, that he had lost that ability to befriend properly when his mother and father had died.

He had been too young. Not ready to become an orphan and manager of an estate as large as Bag-End. Even if he did it half as well as his father, and had managed to keep all lands and tenants happy with him. And he wanted to have friends, now that he has had a taste of them, wanted to keep them. Things long buried, hopes, fantastical and nonsensical dreams of elves and seeing the world his dear mother had describe to him when he had become a fauntling, come to him.

But it's ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. He's too old, too needed in the Shire to run off willy-nilly to find  _elves of all things_.

So, when he wakes, and he is utterly determined to make the finest breakfast he has ever made. As goodbye. A proper goodbye. A proper, well to do Hobbit goodbye. The best goodbye he could give them. And though they were to leave to before first light, Bilbo was already up and about a few hours earlier for preparation. He wore his sturdiest apron, and wielded his best pots and pans to make a hearty goodbye feast, as well as two care packages for his two new friends, he knew they were well stocked, but it was not in his nature, as a hobbit nor host, to not give away gifts in preparation for their departure.

Beatrice was always quick to say how much better he was at cooking then the Wizard, and how much she would miss it when they parted, so he made it his goal to fill her small(something not too trouble to tie onto their horse or place into Beatrice's lovely yellow pack), smart-looking pack he had purchased with small comforts: long lasting food(sweet jams of rhubarb and strawberries, sturdy pastries that lasted for weeks in his pantry, an extra jar of honey and his special blend of tea that was a recipie his mother had made up), as well as a small book of edible wild plants one of his Took cousins had gifted him some odd years back in the common tongue, toiletries in forms of paste for the teeth and fine soap for her hair, two extra handkerchiefs, and an extra blanket, as well as a lovely wide brim hat that went well with the hobbit-y traveling clothes that Rose had whipped up for the girl. For Gandalf, he had packed his finest wine along with food similar to the girl, an extra blanket, and a good helping of pipeweed that would last him the months it took to get to Rivendell.

Bilbo hopes to live up to the praise and give her a small amount of comfort for the long road to Rivendell. _Rivendell, oh how beautiful and wondrous. Beatrice will see Elves! Elves!_  He had already had the girl swear that she would send him a letter to tell her how beautiful the city and its people were.

He bustled about, determined and set- Bilbo wishes to give his new friends a proper send-off, a Hobbit one, and that meant good food, warmth, and well wishes.

Even after only a week within his Smial, he can honestly say that Gandalf the Wizard and Beatrice Eurwen-Lung, were indeed that, his friends. Gandalf was a bit of a mystery- for all his appearance implies there was always this air about him, hidden beyond that unassuming, wrinkled face. However, he was still pleasant, with humor and had an excellent pallet for pipeweed and nice wine and though vexingly sly when he wanted his way, he is still beyond pleasant to know. It was no wonder he had been such a friend of his mother and grandfather. They could speak of any topic, for old stories of his family, to wondrous fantastical tales of far-off lands, to the local gossip. Bilbo was glad to make his friendship and had a faint feeling he had gained a frequent visitor to his Smial.

Beatrice was much easier to comprehend. She was polite, frightfully thoughtful and intelligent, with a quick wit and insightful to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. But she was also entirely odd, beyond just her beautiful exotic features, with phrasing and allusions to things that elude him. It greatly endears him to see that she is equally baffled by him in turn at times and she was always eager to learn more of his People and tell her of her homeland as well. And he wishes her the best, to find her way home. He felt it horrid that a girl so young would be lost in such a way, away from family and home as she was, and hoped she would return to her loved ones.

"Bilbo!" said a voice, in complete surprise.

Bilbo turned and beamed at Beatrice, setting down the last of the freshly baked and made toast.

"Good morning," he said pointedly in a reminder of their first meeting and Gandalf's ire over it, and her answering smirk is telling.

"Good on earth are you doing?"

"Breakfast, of course, can't have you gallivanting off into the Wilds without a proper fry up!"

Beatrice smiles at him, a small warm thing and he tries not to be too flustered at the slight mistiness he sees in her eyes. He cannot help but  _be_  flustered when she comes over and kneels to his eye level, and wraps her arms around him quickly, and gave him a peck on the cheek that is soft and affectionate. Bilbo is long a middle-aged bachelor- but he cannot help but feel like a tween at the gesture of soft thanks and what he suspects is affection. He shoos her off in his bothered state to enjoy her last decent meal before she went gallivanting with Gandalf through the Wilds. Gandalf wanders in a bit later, looking agreeable and happy, taking his seat digging in with as much enthusiasm as any hobbit.

They spent the last morning, just before dawn, quietly and happily arranging and fussing on how well Beatrice looked in her new traveling cloak(embroidered with flowers of good travel and well wishes, safety of danger, a touch that Bilbo felt was lost on Beatrice who had admired them but not understood) and hobbit pants(however odd they looked with her boots), her pleasant tunic with a sturdy vest with brass buttons(roses, thinks Bilbo suit the girl well), or to check if indeed Gandalf had enough Old Tobby to carry him over until he was near enough a place that traded it or that they're huge Beast will not be in want of apples until they reach Bree. They spent their last hour together doing Beatrice's Tai-chi, a farewell spent in silence and peace. As a small gesture of farewell, Beatrice gave him her small 'planner' book with the maps, with a promise secured that he would keep it safe and as a remembrance of her, which Bilbo gladly agreed to, trying not to blubber about the fact that she was gifting a piece of her home without hesitation simply because he had admired it.

Gandalf simply promised to pop by more often and to bring some fireworks for the next Harvest festival if he could. Bilbo saw them off, watching as they trotted over the farthest hill away from Bag-End on Gandalf's beast, quite content at the friends he had made, as well as the farewell he had just given them. He is smiling content, well fed and exercised by Bea's Tai-Chi, and intends to smoke a bit in the fine morning air, unmolested and without the company that required small talk for the first time in a week. A fine, good morning that will fall back into the same routine that had become his since he had become Master at Bag-End.

If only he wasn't such a blasted  _Took_.

Because he lasts about three minutes sitting on his bench, not even bothering to light his pipe before he is dashing about like a madman to pick up the pack he had sworn to himself that morning was not intended for himself but rather if he made a mess of Beatrice's and Gandalf's packs, as well as to make sure his entire home was in good enough order to leave it be for a few months. He picked and grabbed at what he thought would be useful in a long three month journey(the most daring he had ever been in his youth before the Fell Winter had been the utmost of Hobbiton, so he had no real measure beyond a few leisurely walks about The Shire countryside, before the farmlands beyond and before the woods that he was dreamed of finding elves in), heart pounding at a gallop at his sheer nerve- his sheer disregard for his reputation and all around good name as a Baggins of Bag-End.

But Bilbo has been a good, respectable sort for  _years_. And he is his mother's son more than most would care to admit.

His gardener, good young Gamewich* Gamgee, was coming up the lane just as he had everything in order, pinning to the door a small and quickly penned notice that he was going off to visit the elves with some friends and to expect him quite near Harvest Time. His hands were shaking and if he smacked his hands nailing it to the door was his business.

"Gamewich! That's a good lad," he called, a letter penned for his Cousin Hildigrim, to take care and grab all perishable food from his pantry at his leisure in his absence, as well as to collect fees and keep an eye on his tenants,"Take this to my cousin Hildigrim if you could as soon as you're done with the garden!"

Confused, the younger hobbit, recently having taken over the duties of the grounds of the Bag-End estate from his father, stared at his employer in confusion.

"Pardon me, Mister Bilbo, but why don't you wait for the postman?"

Bilbo was already hopping over his fence with foolish, beaming smile on his face, not even bothering with his gate. He called over his shoulder:

"Because I'm going off on an adventure!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"WAIT! WAIT FOR ME!"

Beatrice is not flabbergasted at the sight of Bilbo Baggins running towards them, a sloppy bag banging against his back, a large, taller than him walking stick in his hand and his other hand gripping tightly at the large straw boater on his head. He is grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear, large feet flying and leaping as he ran towards them in a surprising amount of speed for someone with such short legs, bounding neatly and expertly across gardens and fences with hug lunges and strides as he raced for them.

Bea couldn't help it. She laughed, at the odd sight, slipping off of Sonata with a grin herself. She nearly fell on her face, as her large, yellow and heavier backpack nearly threw her off balance.

They had barely made it a few miles, and there was Mister Bilbo Baggins-  _"Quite respectable he is, my cousin," said Rosa Baggins as she had handed her packet of new clothes, carefully wrapped in a thick cloth and bound by a_ blue _ribbon, "Never known to be odd. Took after my uncle Bungo, more than his mother, Belladonna. "_ \- running to them with a smile on his face. She jogs to him, catching him readily as he nearly falls on his face as he came up to her. He laughed, slightly wild, slightly uneasy, eyes glittering as he craned his neck to look up at her. Her hand on his shoulder to steady him and the other on the large hat on her head so it wouldn't slip off(even with the ribbon tied tightly around her face to keep it in place).

"I thought I wouldn't catch up to you!" exclaimed Bilbo, beaming at her, so largely and brightly that she realises that Bilbo is one of those people who has a sort of attitude that made the world better when they were happy, "You moved so dreadfully fast and I couldn't be sure if Gandalf wouldn't make you go on that drasted beast-"

Gandalf was all smiles, as he slides off of Sonata with a sprightly and silent jump, clapping his hands around his gnarled staff with a faint clap.

"My dear Bilbo, so glad of you to join us!" he said grandly, and Bea thought with a slightly wry smile that he looked as pleased as a cat that had caught the canary.

"He wanted to bet whether or not you would come," she says, outing him with a raised brow, "And I told him I wouldn't take a stupid bet."

Gandalf is unashamed and completely unapologetic.

"Yes, well, Bilbo is partially a Took after all. When is a chance to see Rivendell for himself ever come his way? With such delightful company?"

Bea rolls her eyes.

"A lot, if you had anything to say about it, I imagine," she said dryly, and with that Bilbo snorts, rolling his eyes as well.

"I'd expect as much. He's made it a habit, I'll have you know, with taking good and respectable people of the Shire and have them out on all sorts of adventures- Sailing, running about unescorted-"

"Your mother, Belladonna, was a favorite companion, Bilbo. She quite enjoyed the sailing, if I recall, though it was only on a river, though she had expressed a want for the sea before she decided that Bungo Baggins was the hobbit she was going to marry."

With that Bilbo flushes.

"Well, yes, mother was a free spirit."

The way he says free spirit, it was almost as if he was confessing to her having had a STD or something else that most people were ashamed of. Bea pressed her lips together to prevent herself from snorting.

"Well, I'm delighted to have you come along with us," repeated Gandalf, drawing himself importantly.

Bea giggled.

"Me too," she said, grinning at him, "Because it means I don't have to suffer Gandalf's horrible cooking."

The affronted look on the Wizard's face had both her and Bilbo dissolving into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Hobbit or the Lord of the Rings in any sense. It's universe, characters all belong to its amazing creator, J.R.R. Tolkien, its publishing and broadcasting companies.
> 
> This is me, playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles.
> 
> A little shorter than my usual chapters- but well, I felt that this was a good place to end the chapter. I also would have posted the chapter earlier, but I haven't been able to upload a new document here on fanfiction for whatever reason for the last couple of days. It finally occurred to me to just copy and paste the damn thing into an existing document I haven't gotten to deleting. Doh, I know. But I just honestly didn't think of it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy Bilbo's POV and expect a slightly long chapter for the next one... Called Strider(*flinches as the book purists prepare their rusty sporks*).
> 
> I have deferred to the films aging up Aragon about what... 20ish years? Cause at this point I know as per Lord of the Rings book cannon he should be like a wee tyke tormenting the elves of Rivendell as Estel. But eh. I like the dynamic better of him being older at this point for the sake of this story. If Peter Jackson can shoot the basic plot of the Hobbit to hell by making it six hours freakin' long I can take some elements as well. (Seriously, anyone else thinks that the Hobbit Films is like a massive fanboy's fanfic rewrite to make it mesh better with the first trilogy? And I, of course, mean this in the best way as I adored the films despite how much they changed from the book. And. Taureil! 'Cause despite the love-triangle being a little forced I loved her character). By the By, I have drastically rethought my timeline for what I want for this story. And I eventually want this story to span forward into the Lord of the Rings events(shhh, I have a plan, I know, I know, shit's gonna happen) but have decided to more heavily rely on the films because that is what I have seen.
> 
> I will read the books, mind, when I get to the events of the Lord of the Rings, but will tweak things as I see fit to keep the story more or less constant in tone. I apologize if that upsets book purists- really, I do. It's not out of lack of respect for the material, but because of my lack of knowledge and frankly, I avoided them because the books scare the dickens out of me. I have attempted to read them right after I first read the Hobbit and was completely taken aback by the different tone. And Tom Bombadil(seriously, what?). But... Well, I was also twelve at the time.
> 
> Anyway, mild rant aside here's my revised plan for the story:
> 
> 07: Strider (Or Bea Nearly Get's Her Head Chopped Off By An Enthusiastic Ranger)
> 
> 08: Enchanted (Or Bea Realizes That She's In A Magical Relm And is Seriously Weirded Out)
> 
> 09: Meeting A Magical Princess (Or Bea Is Tricked By Essentially Elven Royalty)
> 
> 10: The Vulcan Analogy(Or Bea Is Mildly Creeped Out & Bilbo Is Completely Delighted)
> 
> 11: Goodbyes Are Said (Or Bea & Bilbo Cry Like Babies)
> 
> 12: Home is in the Heart (Or Bea's Heart Is Completly Shattered)
> 
> 13: The White Council(Or Bea Loses More Of Herself)
> 
> 14: To Slay A Dragon(Or Gandalf Can't leave well enough alone)
> 
> 15: Dwarfs, Not of the Hi-Hoe Variety (Or Bilbo Has A Mild Seizure Over The State Of His House)
> 
> 16: Master Oakenshield, The Racist (Or Bea Accidently Teaches Bilbo A Gesture)
> 
> 17: With a Nice Chianti (Or Bea Get's Crushed By Fili's Big Ass)
> 
> 18: Facing the Music (Or Lord Elrond Is Beyond Pissed)

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the Hobbit, nor the Lord of the Rings, its characters, plot, and the world belong to its author(his family now, really), its publishing house and production company.
> 
> This is me, making misshapen sandcastles in its sandbox.
> 
> *Értóng- It means Child in Chinese.
> 
> To clear things up, in Beatrice's world, the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings do not exist. Why? Because I was tired of reading OCs lamenting on how they're going to save Thorin and company, and certainly didn't want to write about it. Not that there is anything wrong with those OCs, but I just wanted to try something new, and have her not have any prior knowledge of the world she has managed to rabbit-hole her way into felt refreshing to write. Not to say of course, that Bea will not affect the ending of the Hobbit and possibly save at least one of them, but its not really my end goal. It's more me exploring Middle-Earth with a new character, expanding on certain characters and making Tolkien's wonderful, fantastical world of good and evil a little bit more in the gray area.
> 
> On a related note, the events of the Hobbit will take place, but only a little further down the line. Roughly Chapter Seven is where that plot thread is going to be introduced, simply because I want to ease into it and not have it start right away. After all, getting into a new world in itself is worthy of development, not just a crazy quest for to kill a dragon.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, drop a review, and possibly visit my other Hobbit story, Fool of a Took!
> 
> ~Happy Reading,
> 
> Moon Witch '96


End file.
